The Division Of Labor In Society

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The

Division of Labor
In Society

BY EMILE DJJRKHEIM

Translated by George Simpson

THE FREE PRESS OF GLENCOE, ILLINOIS

Copyright 1933 by The Macmillan Company
Fourth Printing, September, I960
Printed in the United States of America

LITHOGRAPHED FOR THE PUBLISHERS BY
NOBLE OFFSET PRINTERS, INC., NEW YORK

PREFACE TO THE TRANSLATION

The need for an English ‘transfation of Emile Durkheim’s
De la division du travail social has long been felt. The first great
work of a man who controlled French social thought for almost
a quarter of a century and whose influence is now waxing rather
than waning, it remains today, both from an historical and
contextual standpoint, a book that must be read by all who
profess some knowledge of social thought and some interest in
social problems. First published in 1893 with the subtitle,
£tude sur VOrganisation des Societes Superieures, and a dedica-
tion “A Mon Cher Maitre, M. Emile Boutroux, Hommage
respectueux et reconnaissant,” it has gone through five editions,
the last having been brought out in 1926, nine years after
Durkheim’s death. The second edition appeared in 1902 with
the now classic preface, Quelques Remarques sur les Groupements
professionnels. The third edition appeared in 1907, the fourth in
1911.

In the second and subsequent editions Durkheim omitted
many pages from the long introduction which he wrote for the
first. I feel, however, that this introduction is fundamental
to an understanding of Durkheim’s "posTtion and valuable in
itself, besides being indispensable to an appreciation of a study
which Durkheim had again turned to in his last years and which
he considered his crowning work, the science of ethic s. Conse-
quently, I have appended it at the end of this volume. Nowhere
else, except in the first French edition (now out of print),
can this, Durkheim’s early development of the idea of a
science of ethics, be found. Hence I consider it a great boon
to sociological scholarship that I was enabled to have this
first edition at my disposal, and present it to an English-
speaking audience.

vii

PREFACE TO THE TRANSLATION

viii

The translation has been made from the first and fifth editions
only. The sole difficulty I encountered in thus having to
restrict myself to these two is that Durkheim did not edit the
last edition, and, from all appearances, neither did any of his
students or colleagues. Besides the additional preface and the
omission of much of the introduction, there was little omitted
or added in any of the editions. The footnote to chapter one
of book one in the first edition could not have appeared in later
editions since it refers to material in the first edition which
was omitted in all subsequent editions. I have placed it there
with a note of ipy own. Near the end of chapter two of book
two, three and a half lines were added which are important,
since they answer the charge of jingoism made against Durk-
heim ^ and show his international leanings. They read thus :
“Inversement, tout retour d’un nationalisme 6troit a toujours
pour consequence un developpement de I’esprit protectionniste,
c’est-k-dire une tendance des peuples k s’isoler, economiquement
et moralement, les uns des autres.” In its context it tacitly
expresses a condemnation of nationalism and is the best
refutation of Durkheim’s ad hoc pamphlets published during the
war, Qui a voulu la guerre? Les origines de la guerre d’aprh les
documents diplomatiques (in collaboration with E. Denis) ;
“ L'AUemagne au-dessus de tout," la mentaliti allemande et la
guerre; and Les lettres d tous les frangais. In chapter one of
book two in a sentence concerning suicide among lower peoples,
certain words generalizing the main thought concerning the
rarity of suicides among such people were omitted. I have
noted this omission in a footnote. It is probable that Durk-
heim’s work on suicide contained in that remarkable study in
social causation, Le Suicide, led him to extenuate the broad
generalization he was there making.

The title page of all the editions contained a quotation from
Aristotle’s Politics (B, 1, 1261a, 24), reading as follows :

oi yhp yivcroi iroXts oftoitav ’ inpov yhp km itoXk.

' * See my eetimate for the citation, p. zxvii.

PREFACE TO THE TRANSLATION

ix

Mention should be made of my translation of terms peculiar
to Durkheim’s sociology. The French word “conscience”
I have translated as conscience; the usual translation of Durk-
heim’s term, consciousness, seems to me to be a gross misinter-
pretation of Durkheim’s meaning. A consc ience for Durldi eim
(although never expressly defined) i^ pre-eminently the orga n
of sentiments and representations; if is not the rational organ
that the term '^consciousness ” would imply. The qualities
possessed by a conscience whether collective or individual are
not those generally imputed to consciousness in German, Eng-
lish, and American epistemology. Moreover, the moral charac-
ter of the sentiments and representations in a conscience would
seem to render my translation more in the spirit, as well as
the letter, of the original. In fact, the term has resemblance
to the term “unconscious” in psychoanalysis, rather than to
consciousness in logical theory. The terms “collective” and
“commune” Durkheim employed interchangeably in referring
to a conscience of such a sort. Their interchangeable character
is shown by an error made in calling the conscience “commune”
in the subtitle of chapter three of book two of the main text,
and printing it as “collective” in the heading of that chapter
in the table of contents. In this instance, I have made both of
them read common.

To translate Durkheim’s term “anomie” I have called back
to life an English word obsolete since 1755 and first used in 1591,
anomy. The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary finds itjised
in its earlier period to mean “disregard of (divine) law,” and
in its later, “lawlessness.” Its derivation is direct from the
Greek ivoyia. The adjective of this noun which Durkheim
uses, “anomique,” has no English counterpart, obsolete or
current, and I have had to coin a word which I hope gains
some currency because of its fullness of meaning. That word
is anomic. The Greek for it is ivo/un.

The words “sentiiMent” and “representation” I have trans-
lated as serUiment and representation. These words, too,
Durkheim defined only by implication, but I think that the

X

PREFACE TO THE TRANSLATION

same English terms will convey the sense intended by the
original. Sometimes I have translated “simihtude” as likeness
and sometimes as similitiide. In the first chapter of book two,
Durkheim refers to the plural “progr&s” of the division of labor,
implying not the ethical term, progress, but rather the vitalistic
term, advances. Durkheim uses the word in the plural and
1 have sometimes translated it as advances, and sometimes by
the singular, progress. This is mentioned here to warn the
reader that it is not to be confused with Spencer’s term, nor
with the popular use of the word to mean moral superiority.
I have often translated "la morale ” as ethics, although some-
times as morality. I do not think Durkheim made any sharp
distinction between them. At least the context never shows it.

The picture of Durkheim which appears as the frontispiece
in this volume is not a late one; it dates from about 1903.
I should have preferred to have used a later one, but the photo-
graphs to which I had access and which were of a later date
are either very bad and very difiicult of reproduction, or else
show Durkheim when he was in the throes of the illness which
was to be fatal to him and consequently do not catch the spirit
and vigor of a great mind.

Where Durkheim has quoted Spencer directly from the
French translations of Spencer’s works, I have translated from
the French and placed the matter in indirect statement ; the
page references I have left as referring to the French translations.
Where Durkheim quotes Spencer in order to criticize him
adversely, as in the majority of the cases, there would seem to
be no reason for being interested in Spencer’s ideas after Durk-
heim has finished with them. In truth, there is scarcely any
mind, even though tutored in logic and philosophy, as Spencer’s
certainly was not, that can stand up under the attack of Durk-
heim’s incisive thinking on topics to which he has given keen
attention.

This vplume I hope marks the beginning of interest in this
country % Durkheim’s work. He is certainly the greatest social
think^NSiat has come out of France since Proud’hon. far ereater

PREFACE TO THE TRANSLATION

than Comte on whom so much attention was lavished without
commensurate results. My friend and former teacher,
Mr. George E. G. Catlin, is now supervising a translation of
Les R^les de la mSthode sociologique which should do much to
enhance Durkheim’s reputation among the English-speaking
peoples. D r. Talcott Parsons , as I have noted in my Estimate,
is writing an essay on Durkheim. The reputation of Durkheim
in this country has suffered from the criticism of anthropologists,
but that is because he was not an anthropologist; he made
great contributions to anthropology, but it was not his nUtier.

A student of sociology, with only a general academic training
in French, I early sought the aid of Mr. Herbert A. Brodsky,
who rendered great service in the preliminaD^ stages of the
translation of the two prefaces, the introduction, and the
appendix, as well as the greater part of the second book. Had
other demands not forced themselves upon him, he might have
been my collaborator in the whole task. As it is, I am extremely
indebted to him, and realize how much better this book might
have been if it had had the benefit of his knowledge of French.
I thought it best, however, that the book see the light in English
as soon as possible, since further delay would only serve to
deprive English-speaking students of the work of a man they can
ill afford to miss.

Whatever there is of worth in the English style of the book
must be attributed to my friend, Mr. George H. Weltner, who
has carefully gone over the entire translation and aided me in
polishing it. There are parts, however,' which even his skill
could not polish, and I alone must be held accountable for
them. I am sure that what is good in the style is his, and what
is bad is mine.

G. S.

New Yoek City.

November, 1933.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PAOB

Preface to the Translation vii

Preface to the Second Edition. — Some Notes on Occu-
pational Groups 1

Preface to the First Edition ...... 32

Introduction. — The Problem 39

Development of the division of labor in society ; universality
of the phenomenon. The problem: Must we abandon our-
selves to the movement, or must we resist it, — the question
as to the moral value of the division of labor

Uncertainty of the moral conscience on this point ; contra-
dictory solutions given simultaneously. Method for ending
this indecision. The study of the division of labor in itself
and for itself. Plan of the book

V-^OK ONE

THE FUNCTION OF THE DIVISION OF LABOR

^iftcfTER One. The Method for Determining This Func-
tion 49

Meaning of the word function *

1. The function of the division of labor is not to produce
civilization

2. Cases where the function of the division of labor is to
bring forth groups which would not exist without it. Whence
the hypothesis that it plays the same role in higher societies ;
that it is the principal source of their cohesion

xiii

xiv

TABLE OF CONTENTS

3. / To verify this hypothesis, we must compare the social soli-
darity which has this source with other types of solidarity, and
accordingly classify them. Necessity for studying solidarity
through the system of juridical rules ; there are as many classes
of juridical rules as there are forms of solidarity.* Classifi-
cation of juridical rules: rules with a repressive sanction;
rules with a restitutive sanction

PTER Two.
NESS .

Mechanic

Solidarity through Like-

The link of social solidarity to which repressive law corre-
sponds is the one whose break constitutes a crime. We shall
understand this link if we understand what crime essentially is

The essential characteristics of crime are those which are
found wherever crime occurs, no matter what the social type.
Thus, the only characteristics common to all crimes, which are
or have been recognized as such, are the following : 1. a crime
offends sentiments which are found among all normal indi-
viduals of any given society ; 2. these sentiments are strong ;
3. they are defined. A crime is, then, an act which offends
strong and defined states of the collective conscience; exact
meaning of this statement. — Examination of a case where the
delict is created or at least aggravated by an act of a govern-
mental organ. Inclusion of this case in the preceding defini-
tion

2. Verification of this definition ; if it is exact, it ought to
account for all the characteristics of punishment. Determina-
tion of these characteristics : 1. punishment is a passionate
reaction, of graduated intensity; 2. this passionate reaction
emanates from society ; refutation of the theory according to
which private vengeance would have been the primitive form of
punishment ; 3. this reaction is enforced through the interme-
diary of a constituted body

3. These characteristics can be deduced from our definition
of crime: 1. every strongly offended sentiment mechanically
determines a passionate reaction; utility of this reaction in
maintaining this sentiment. Collective sentiments, being the

TABLE OF CONTENTS

XV

PAGE

strongest there are, determine a reaction of the same kind,
which is as strong as they are intense. Explanation of the
quasi-religious character of expiation ; 2. the collective char-
acter of these sentiments explains the social character of this
reaction ; why it is useful for it to be social ; 3. the intensity
and particularly the defined nature of these sentiments explain
the formation of the determinate organ which enforces this
reaction

4.[ The rules which penal law sanctions thus express the most
essential social similitudes; consequently, it corresponds to
the social solidarity which comes from resemblances, and varies
with it. Nature of this solidarity. We can then measure the
part it plays in general social integration according to the frac-
tion of the complete system of juridical rules which penal law
represents

Three. Organic Solidarity Due to the Division

OF Labor Ill

1. The nature of the restitutive sanction implies: 1. that
the corresponding rules express excentric states of the common
conscience or are foreign to it ; 2. that the relations that they
determine only link the individual indirectly to society. These
relations are positive or negative

2. Negative relations of which real rights are typical. They
are negative because they link the thing to the person, not per-
sons to each other. — Reduction to this type of personal rela-
tions which are established as they arise in the exercise of real
rights, or through a delict or quasi-delict. — IThe solidarity
that the corresponding rules express, being negative, has no
existence of its own, but is only a prolongation of positive forms
of social solidarity

3. ^Positive or co-operative relations which come from the
division of labor. Are governed by a defined system of
juridical rules which we may call co-operative law ; verification
of this proposition through the different parts of co-operative
law. Analogies between the function of this law and that of
the nervous system

XVI

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PAGE

4. Conclusion : Two kinds of positive solidarity ; one which
comes from similitudes, the other from the division of labor.
Mechanical solidarity, organic solidarity. The first varies in
inverse ratio, the second in direct ratio with individual per-
sonality. What repressive law corresponds to ; what co-opera-
tive law corresponds to j

Chapter Four. Further Proof of the Preceding . . 133

If the preceding result is exact, repressive law ought to have
as much more preponderance over co-operative law as social-
similitudes are more extensive, and the division of labor more
rudimentary, and inversely. Hence, this is what happens :

1. The more primitive societies are, the more resemblances
there are among individuals ; physical resemblances ; psychic
resemblances. The contrary opinion arises from confusing col-
lective types (national, provincial, etc.) and individual types.

The first are effaced while the others multiply and become more
pronounced. Moreover, the division of labor, originally non-
existent, continues to develop

2. Hence, originally, all law has a repressive character.

Law of primitive peoples. Hebrew law. Hindoo law.
Development of co-operative law in Rome, in Christian socie-
ties. Today, the primitive relationship is reversed. That the
primitiv^reponderance of repressive law is not due to the low
state of^orals

Chwoter Five. Progressive Preponderance of Organic
^ Solidarity ; Its Consequences 147

1. ' The actual preponderance of co-operative law over repres-
sive law shows that the social links which come from the divi-
sion of labor are actually more numerous than those which
come from social similitudes: As this preponderance is more
marked the nearer we approach to higher social types, it is not
accidental, but dependent upon the nature of these types.

, Not only are these links more numerous, but they are stronger.^
Criterion for measuring the relative force of social links.
Application of this criterion

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xvii

PAGE

2. At the same time that they are less strong, the links that
come from similitudes loosen as social evolution advances.
Mechanical solidarity relies on three conditions : 1 . relative
extent of the collective conscience and of the individual con-
science; 2. intensity; 3. degree of determination of the
states composing the collective conscience. The first of these
conditions remaining completely constant, the other two re-
gress. Method for proving this according to the numerical
variations of criminological types. Classification of the latter

3. Regression and progressive disappearance of a great num-
ber of these types

4. These losses have not been compensated by other acquisi-
tions. , Contrary theory of Lombroso : refutation. The num-
ber of strong and defined states of the common conscience has,
therefore, diminished

5. Further proof. The particularly strong states of the
common conscience have a religious character; but religion
embraces a steadily diminishing portion of social life. Further
proof from decline of proverbs, dicta, etc. Organic solidarity
thus becomes preponderant

Progressive Preponderance of Organic
^^OL iDARrir; Its Consequences (Continued) . . . 174

1. ^ Social structures correspond to these two types of soli-
darity. Segmental type ; description ; corresponds to
mechanical solidarity. Its various forms

2. Organized type ; its characteristics ; corresponds to
organic solidarity. Antagonism between these two types ; the
second develops proportionally to the effacement of the first.
However, the segmental type does not completely disappear.

More effaced forms it assumes

3. Analogy between this development of social types and
that of organic types in the animal kingdom

4. The preceding law must not be confused with Spencer's
theory concerning military and industrial societies. The
original absorption of the individual in society does not come
from too strong a military centralization, but rather from the

XX

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PAGB

3. The growth of volume and of density mechanically deter-
mines the progress of the division of labor by intensifying the
struggle for existence. How the need of more abundant prod-
ucts of better quality arises ; it is a result of the cause which
necessitates specialization, not the cause of specialization

4. The division of labor is, then, produced only in consti-
tuted societies. Error of those who make the division of labor
and co-operation the fundamental fact of social life. Applica-
tion of this proposition to the international division of labor.

Case of mutualism

Chapter Three. Secondary Factors. — Progressive Inde-
termination OF THE Common Conscience and Its Causes 283

The division of labor can progress only if individual varia-
bility increases, and that increases only as the common con-
science regresses. The reality of this regression has been estab-
lished. What are the causes of it?

1. As the social milieu extends, the collective conscience
spreads itself over more and more concrete things, and, accord-
ingly, becomes more abstract. Facts in support : transcend-
ence of the idea of God ; more rational character of law, mo-
rality, of civilization in general. This indetermination leaves a
larger place for individual variability

2. The effacement of the segmental type, by detaching the
individual from his natal environment, frees him from the
power of the aged and thus weakens the authority of tradition

3. In accordance with the effacement of the segmental type,
society, in losing hold of the individual, can much less hold
divergent tendencies together

4. Why a social organ cannot, from this point of view, play
the role of a segment

Chapter Four. Secondary Factors {Continued). — He-
redity 304

Heredity is an obstacle to the progress of the division of
labor ; facts which show that it becomes a lesser factor in the
distribution of functions. How does this come about?

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XXI

PAOB

1. Heredity loses its power because modes of activity of ever
greater importance arise which are not hereditarily transmis-
sible. Proofs: 1. new races do not arise; 2. heredity trans-
mits only general, simple aptitudes; but activities become
more complex by becoming more special. The hereditary leg-
acy thus becomes a smaller factor in our development, because
it is necessary to add more to it

2. The hereditary legacy becomes more indeterminate.
Proofs: 1. instinct grows weaker from lower animal species
to higher, from animal to man. There is reason for believing
that such regression continues in the human world. This is
proved by the uninterrupted progress of intelligence, which
varies in inverse ratio with instinct ; 2. not only arc no new
races formed, but the old races disappear; 3. Galton^s re-
searches. What is regularly transmitted is the average type.

But the average type becomes ever more indeterminate as indi-
vidual differences develop

Chapter Five. Consequences op the Preceding . . 329

1. Very supple character of the division of labor in society
compared to the division of physiological labor. The cause of
this is that function becomes more independent of the organ.

In what sense this independence is a mark of superiority

2. The mechanistic theory of the division of labor implies
that civilization is the product of necessary causes, and not an
end which by itself influences activity. . But, although an
effect, it becomes an end and an ideal. In what way. There
is no reason to suppose that this ideal ever takes an immutable
form, that progress may have an end. Spencer's contrary theory

3. The growth of volume and of density in changing societies
also changes individuals. Man is more free of the body;
hence, his psychic life develops. Under the influence of the
same causes, individual personality disengages itself from the
collective personality. Since these transformations depend
upon social causes, psycho-physiology can explain only the lower
forms of our psychic life. Society, in large part, explains the^
individual. Importance of this proposition for methodology y

xxii

TABLE OF CONTENTS

BOOK THREE
ABNORMAL FORMS

PAGE

Chapter One. The Anomic Division of Labor . . . 353

Abnormal forms where the division of labor does not produce
solidarity. Necessity for studying them

1. Abnormal cases in economic life; industrial crises more
frequent as labor is divided ; antagonism of labor and capital.
Likewise, the unity of science is lost as scientific labor becomes
specialized

2. Theory which makes these effects inherent in the division
of labor. According to Comte, the remedy consists in a great
development of the governmental organ and in the institution
of a philosophy of the sciences. Inability of the governmental
organ to regulate the details of economic life ; — of the philos-
ophy of sciences to assure the unity of science

3. If, in these cases, functions do not concur, it is because
their relations are not regulated; the division of labor is
anomic. Necessity of regulation. How, normally, it comes
from the division of labor. How it fails in the examples cited

This anomy arises from the solidary organs not being in suffi-
cient contact or sufficiently prolonged. This contact is the nor-
mal state

When the division of labor is normal, it does not confine the
individual in a task without giving him a glimpse of anything
outside of it

/

t Chapter Two. The Forced Division op Labor . . 374

/

1. The class-war. It comes from the individuars not being
in harmony with his function, since it has been imposed upon
him by force. What constraint means : it is any type of in-
equality in the external conditions of life. It is true that there
are no societies where these inequalities are not met with. But
they become fewer and fewer. The substitution of organic soli-
darity for mechanical solidarity makes this decline necessary

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xxiii

PAOB

2. Another reason which makes this progress towards equal-
ity necessary. Contractual solidarity becomes a more and
more important factor of social consensus. But, a contract is
truly binding only if the values exchanged are really equiva-
lent ; and, for this to be so, it is necessary for traders to be
placed in conditions externally equal. Reasons which make
these injustices more intolerable as organic solidarity becomes
preponderant. In fact, contractual law and contractual mo-
rality become ever more exacting from this point of view

True individual liberty does not consist in suppression of all
regulation, but is the product of regulation, for this equality
is not in nature. This work of achieving justice is the task
which is imposed upon higher societies ; only on this condition
can they maintain themselves

Chapter Three. Another Abnormal Form . . . 389

Case where the division of labor does not produce solidarity
because the functional activity of each worker is insufficient.

How organic solidarity grows with the functional activity in
organisms ; — in society. In fact, the functional activity
grows at the same time as the division of labor, if it is normal.
Secondary reason why the division of labor produces solidarity

Conclusion 396

1. Solution of the practical problem posed at the beginning.

The rule that orders us to realize the traits of the collective type
aims to assure social cohesion ; but, it is moral and can execute
its function only because it has a moral character. But the
rule which orders us to specialize has the same function ; thus
it equally has a moral value

Another way of proving this proposition. Speculation as to
the essential character of morality, induced from the preceding
classifications. Morality is the totality of conditions of social
solidarity. How the division of labor presents this criterion

2. That the division of labor does not weaken the individual
personality : 1. Why should the logic of our nature require us
to develop superficially rather than profoundly? 2. Further,

XXIV

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PAGE

individual personality progresses only under the influence of
causes which determine the division of labor

The ideal of human fraternity can be realized only if the divi-
sion of labor progresses at the same time. It is thus linked to
our whole moral life

3. But the division of labor gives rise to solidarity only if, at
the same time, it produces a law and a morality. Error of econ-
omists on this subject. Character of this morality; more
human, less transcendent. More justice. Considerations on
the actual crisis in morality

APPENDIX

Portion of the Introduction to the First Edition Subse-
quently Omitted by Durkheim 411

1. Ordinary method for solving a moral question: con-
fronting the fact to be judged with a formula of morality.
Impossibility of using this method, since none of the proposed
formulae expresses the moral reality

2. If this is so, it is because the formula of morality can be
obtained not at the beginning of the science, but during its
progress

3. Necessity for defining moral facts by their external char-
acters. This criterion lies in the existence of a sanction, more
particularly of a diffuse repressive sanction

4. Complement of the preceding definition: Division of
moral facts into normal and abnormal

Index

437

The

Division of Labor
In Society

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
SOME NOTES ON OCCUPATIONAL GROUPS

In re-editing this book, we do not wish to change its original
format. A book has an individuality of its own. It is best
to keep intact the appearance by which it has become known.’

But there is an idea undeveloped in the first edition which it
will be useful to bring to light, and further determine, for it will
clarify certain parts of the present work, and even those we
have since published.* ^t is the question of the role that occ u-
pational g roups are destined to play in the contemporary social
order If, originally, we came into contact with the problem
only by allusion,’ that is because we expected to consider it
again in a special study. As other activities have come up to
turn us from the project, and as there does not seem to be any
likelihood of our being able to follow it up later, we are going
to take advantage of this second edition to show how this ques-
tion is bound up with the subject treated in the course of this
work, to indicate how the question appears, and especially to
try to remove the prejudices which still prevent many from
understanding the urgency and significance of the problem.
Such will be the object of this new preface.

I

We repeatedly insist in the course of this book upon the state
o f juridical and moral anpmy jn which economic life actu ally

* We feel justified in suppressing about thirty pages of the old introduction,
which appear useless to us today. Where the material formerly appeared, we
have given an explanation of the omission.

* See Le Suicide, conclusion. ® See pp. 181-190 and 218-219.

1

2

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

found .* Indeed, in the economic order, occupational ethics
exist only in the most rudimentary state. There is a profes-
sional ethic of the lawyer and the judge, the soldier and the
priest, etc. But if one attempted to fix in a little more precise
language the current ideas on what ought to be the relations of
employer and employee, of worker and manager, of tradesmen
in competition, to themselves or to the public, what indecisive
formulas would be obtained ! Some generalizations, without
point, about the faithfulness and devotion workers of all sorts
owe to those who employ them, about the moderation with
which employers must use their ec onomic a dvantages, a certa in
reprobation of all competition too openly dishonest, for all
untempered exploitation of the consumer ; that is about all the
moral conscience of these trades contain^ ^Moreover, most o f
these precepts are devoid of all juridic al character, t hey are
sanctioned only by opinion, not by law ; and it is well known
how indulgent opinion is concerning the ma nner in whic h these
vague obligations are fulfilled. The most blameworthy acts
are so often absolved by success that the boundary between
what is permitted and what is prohibited, what is just and v^rhat
is unjust, has nothing fixed about it, but seems susceptible to
almost arbitrary change by individuals. An ethic so unprecise
and inconsistent cannot constitute a discipline. The result is
that all this sphere of collective life is, in large part, freed from
the moderating action of regulation.

It is this anomic state that is the cause, as we shall show,
of the incessantly recurrent conflicts, and the multifarious dis-
orders of which the economic world exhibits so sad a spectacle.
For, as nothing restrains the active forces and assigns them
limits they are bound to respect, they tend to develop haphaz-
ardly, and come into collision with one another, battling and
weakening themselves. To be sure, the strongest succeed in
completely demolishing the weakest, or in subordinating them.
But if the conquered, for a time, must suffer subordination under
compulsion, they do not consent to it, and consequently this
* See pp. 218-219 and p. 354.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

3

cannot constitute a stable equilibrium.® Truces, arrived at
after violence, are never anything but provisional, and satisfy ^
no one. Human passions stop only before a moral power they
respect. If all authority of this kind is wanting, the law of the
strongest prevails, and latent or active, the state of war is -
necessarily chronic.

That such a n archy i s a n unhealth y phenomenon is q uite
evident, since it runs counter to the aim of society, which is to
suppress, or at least to moderate, war among men, subordinating
the law of the strongest to a higher law. To justify this chaotic
state, we vainly praise its encouragement of individual liberty.
Nothing is falser than this antagonism too often presented
between legal authority and individual liberty. Quite on the
contrary, liberty (we mean genuine liberty, which it is society’s
duty to have respected) is itself the product of regulation, I
can be free only to the extent that others are forbidden to profit
from their physical, economic, or other superiority to the detri-
ment of my liberty. But only social rules can prevent abuses
of power. It is now known what complicated regulation is j
needed to assure individuals the economic independence without]
which their liberty is only nominal.

But what brings about the exceptional gravity of this state,
nowadays particularly, is the heretofore unknown development
that economic functions have experienced for about two cen-
turies. Whereas formerly they played only a secondary role,
they are now of the first importance. We are far from the time
when they were disdainfully abandoned to the inferior classes.
In the face of the economic, the administrative, military, and
religious functions become steadily less important. Only the
scientific functions seem to dispute their place, and even science
has scarcely aqy prestige save to the extent that it can serve
practical occupations, which are largely economic. /That is
Iwhy it can be said, with some justice, that society is, or tends
Uo be, essentially industrial. A form of activity which has
assumed such a place in social life evidently cannot remain in

* See Book III, ch. i, 3.

4

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

this unruly state without resulting in the most profound dis-
asters. I t is a notable s o urce of general dem oraliz ation. For,
precisely because^he economic functions today concern the
greatest number of citizens, there are a multitude of individuals
whose lives are passed almost entirely in the industrial and
commercial world. From this, it follows that as that world
is only feebly ruled by morality, the greatest part of their exist-
ence takes place outside the moral spherelt Now, for the senti-
ment of duty to be fixed strongly in us, the circumstances in
which we live must keep us awake. Naturally, we are not
inclined to thwart and restrain ourselves ; if, then, we are not
invited, at each moment, to exercise this restraint without which
there is no ethic, how can we learn the habit? If in the task
that occupies almost all our time we follow no other rule than
that of our well-understood interest, how can we learn to depend
upon disinterestedness, on self-forgetfulness, on sacrifice? In
this way, the absence of all economic discipline cannot fail to
extend its effects beyond the economic world, and consequently
weaken public morality.

But, the evil observed, what is its cause and what can be its
remedy?

In the body of this work, we have especially insisted upon
showing that the division of labor cannot be held responsible,
as is sometimes unjustly charged ; th at it does not necessarily
produce dispersion and incoherence, but that fuii^ons, when
they are sufficiently in contact with one another, tend to stabilize
and regulate themselves. But this explanation is incomplete.
For, if it is true that social functions spontaneously seek to
adapt themselves to one another, provided they are regularly
in relationship, nevertheless this mode of adaptation becomes a
rule of conduct only if the. group consecrates it with its author- •
ity. |A rule, indeed, is not only an habitual means of acting ;
ft is, above all, on (Migatory means of acting; which is to say,
withdrawn from individual discretion. / Now, only a constituted
society enjoys the moral and material supremacy indispensable

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

5

in ma k i n g law for individuals, for the only moral personality
above particular personalities is the one formed by collective
life. It alone has continuity and the necessary perpetuity to
maintain the rule beyond the ephemeral relations which daily
incarnate it. Moreover, its role is not limited simply to forming
into imperative principles the most general results of particular
contracts; it intervenes in an active and positive manner in
the formation of each rule. First, it is the arbiter naturally
designed to settle interests in conflict, and to assign to ea’ch its
suitable limits. Then it has the chief interest in order and
peace; if anomy is an evil, it is above all because society
suffers from it, being unable to live without cohesion and regu-
larity. A moral or juridical regulation essentially expresses,
then, social n eeds tha t society alone ca n fee l ; it rests in a state
of opinion, and all opinion is a collective thing, produced by
collective elaboration. For anomy to end, there must then"!
exist, or be formed, a group which can constitute the systeny
of rules actually needed.

Neither political society, in its entirety, nor the State can
take over this function ; economic life, because it is specialized
and grows more specialized every day, escapes their competence
and their action.® An occupational activity can be efficaciously
regulated only by a group intimate enough with it to know
its function^, feel all its needs, and able to follow all their
variations. \^he only one that could answer all these conditions
is the one formed by all the agents of the same industry, united
and organized into a single body. ^This is what is called the
coloration or occupational grouQ

Now, in the economic order, the occupational group does not
exist any more than occupational ethics. Since the eighteenth
century rightfuUy suppressed the old corporations, only frag-
mentary and incomplete attempts have been made to bring
them back with new foundations. To be sure, individuals
working at the same trade have relations with one another
because of their similar occupation. Even competition puts

* We ehail return to this point, p. 359 fiF.

6

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

them ih relationship. But these relations have nothing ordered
about them; they depend upon chance meetings, and have,
very often, an entirely personal aspect. A particular tradesman
is found in contact with some fellow-tradesman ; this does not
result from the industrial body of this or that specialty united
for common action. In exceptional circumstances, the members
of the same occupation come together as a unit to treat some
question of general interest, but these meetings are only tem-
porary. They do not survive the particular circumstances
which bring them into being, and consequently the collective
life of which they are the cause is more or less completely^
obliterated with them. ^

The only groups which have a certain permanence today are
those called syndicates, composed of either employers or work-
men. To be sure, there is, in this, a beginning of occupational
organization, but still quite formless and rudimentary. For^
first, a syndicate is a private association, without legal authority,^
deprived, consequently, of all regulatory power. The number
of sjmdicates is theoretically limitless, even in the interior of the
same industrial category ; and as each of them is independent
of the others, if they do not federate or unify there is nothing
intrinsic in them expressing the unity of the occupation in its
entirety. Finally, the syndicates of employers and the syndi-
cates of employees are distinct from each other, which is legiii-
mate and necessary, but with no regular contact between them.
There exists no common organization for their union where
they can develop a com mon authority, fixing their mutual
relatiqns_and commanding obedience, jwithout a consequent
loss of individuaUty. Consequently, it is always the law of the
strongest which settles conflicts, and the state of war is con-
tinuous. Save for those of their acts which arise from common
ethics, employers and workmen are, in relation to each other,
in the same situation as two autonomous sta.tes,_but of unequal
power. They can form contn^tsTFut’ ’these contracts express
the respective state of their military forces. They sanction
a condition of fact ; they cannot make it a condition of right.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

7

For the establishment of an occupational ethic and law in the
different economic occupations, *|_thejcojgjgjgy^^2B*fiiistead of
remaining a confused aggregate, without unity, would have to
become again a defined, organized group ; in a word, a public
institution. But any project of this sort runs foul of a certain
number of prejudices which must be forestalled or dissipated.

In the first place, the corporation has its historic past against
it. Indeed, it is taken as being strictly solidary with our old
political regime, and consequently considered unable to survive
it. The point is made that to ask for a corporative organization
for industry and commerce is to demand that we retrace the
course of history. Such retrogression is correctly looked upon
either as impossible or as abnormal.

This argument would carry weight if we proposed artificially
to resuscitate the old corporation as it existed in the Middle
Ages. But the problem is not presented in that light. It is
not a question of discovering whether the medieval institutioii,
can identically fit our contemporary societies, but whether the
needs which it answered are not always present, although it
must, in order to satisfy them, change according to the times.

Now, what precludes our seeing in the corporations a tem-
porary organization, good only for some one epoch and deter-
mined civilization, is, at once, their ..v enerable agg anfl the
manner in which they have developed in histc^. If they dated
ohlyTrom fhelirddre Ages, one could believe that, having been
born with a political system, they must of necessity disappear
with it. But, in reality, they have a much more ancient origin.
Generally, they appear as soon as there are trades, which means
as soon as industry ceases being purely agricultural. If they
seem to have been unknown in Greece, at least up to the time
of the Roman conquest, that is because trades, being looked
down upon there, were carried on almost exclusively by strangers,
and for that very reason found th emselves oiitiside the legal
organization of the city.’' But in Rome they date at least

^ See Hermann, Lehrhuch der griechischen AntiquMten, vol. iv, 3rd ed., p. 398.
Sometimes the worker, because of his occupation, was even deprived of the free-

8

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

from the earliest times of the Republic ; tradition even attrib-
utes their creation to king Numa.® It is true that for a long
time they had to lead a rather humble existence, for historians
and tablets speak of them but rarely, so that we know very little
of the way in which they were organized. But from the time
of Cicero, their number became more considerable, and they
began to play a part in Roman society. From that moment,
says Waltzing, ‘ [all the working classes seem possessed with
the desire to multiply the occupational groups.” The expand-
ing movement continues apace, reaching, under the Empire,
“an extension which, perhaps, has not been surpassed since,
if one takes into account the economic differences. ” * All the
categories of workmen, which were many, finally ended by form-
ing themselves into constituencies, and it was the same with
men who lived by commerce. At the same time, the character
of these groups was changed; they ended by becoming part
of the administrative machine. They fulfilled official functions ;
each occupation was looked up>on as a public service whose
corresponding corporation had obligations and responsibilities
'toward the State.'® ^ o cJvx'i

I This was t he ruin of the institution^ For this dependence
upon the State was not long in degenerating into an intolerable
servitude that emperors could maintain only by force. All
sorts of methods were employed for preventing workmen from
getting rid of the heavy obligations resulting from their occupa-
tion ; they went so far as to recruit and force enrollment. Such
a system evidently could only last as long as the political power

dom of the city (iWd., p. 392), We have yet to know whether, for want of an
official and legal organization, there was not something clandestine about it.
What is certain is that there were some corporations of merchants. (See Fran-
cotte, V Industrie dans la Grice antique, vol. ii, pp. 204 ff.)

• Plutarch, Life of Numa; Pliny, Hist, not., XXXIV. It is, to be sure, only
a legend, but it proves that the Romans regarded their corporations as one of
their />ldest institutions.

* Etude historique sur Us corporations professionneUes ehez Us Romains, vol. i,
pp. 66 - 57 .

Certain historians believe that, from their very origin, corporations were
related to the State. But it is quite certain, in any case, that their official char-
acter was otherwise developed during the Empire.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

9

was strong enough to impose it. That is why it did not survive
the dissolution of the Empire. Besides, civil wars and invasions
had destroyed commerce and industry ; workmen profited from
these circumstances to flee the cities and scatter about in the
country. Thus, the first centuries of our era produced a phe- '
nomenon which was to be repeated identically at the end of the
eighteenth century. Corporative life was almost completely
extinguished. Some few traces remained, in Gaul and in
Germany in the cities of Roman origin. If, then, a theorist
had taken stock of the situation, he would reasonably have con-
cluded, as economists did later, that corporations had-D ot, o r
at least no longer had, any reason for existing, that they had
disappSared" once and for all, and he would, no doubt, have
treated any attempt to bring them back as retrogressive and
unrealizable. But events would soon have refuted such a
prophecy.

Indeed, after some time, the corporations began a new exist-
ence in all European societies. They endured to rise again in
the eleventh and twelfth centuries. At that time, says Levas-
seur, “the workmen began to feel the need of combining and
forming their first associations.” “ In any case, in the thir-
teenth century, they are once again flourishing, and they develop
up to the day when a new decadence begins for them. So per-
sistent an institution cannot depend upon a contingent and
accidental existence. Still less possible is the admission that
they may have been the product of some strange collective
aberration. If from the origin of the city up to the zenith of
the Empire, from the dawn of Christian societies up to modem
times, they have been necessary, it is because they answer
durable and profound needs. The fact that after having dis-
appeared the first time they came into being themselves and in
a new form especially removes all value from the argument
which presents their violent disappearance at the end of the
eighteenth century as a proof that they are no longer in harmony
with the _new conditions of collective existence. Moreover, the

“ Lea cUiaaes ouvri^rea en France juequ'h la Rivolutiony I, p. 194.

10

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

need which all great civilized societies feel to recall them to life
is the surest symptom that this radical suppression was not a
remedy, and that the reform of Turgot necessitates another
that cannot be indefinitely postponed.

II

But if all corporative organization is not necessarily an his-
torical anachronism, is there any reason for believing that it may
play, in contemporary societies, ^e great role we have attributed
to it? For, if it be indispensable, it is not because of the eco-
nomic services it can render, but because of the moral influence
it can have. What we especially see in the occupational group
is a moral power capable of containi ng individ ual egos, of main-
taining a spirited sentim ent of comm on solidarity in the con-
sciousness of all the workers, of preven ting the law of th e strong-
est from being brutally applied to industrial and commercial
relations. It is now thought to be unsuitable for such a role.
Because it had its origin in short-lived interests, it appears that
it can be used only for utilitarian ends, and the mementos left
by corporations of the old regime seem only to confirm this im-
pression. They are gratuitously represented in the future as
they were during the last days of their existence, particularly
busy in maintaining or increasing their privileges and their
monopolies; and it cannot be seen how interests so narrowly
occupational can have a favorable effect on the ethics of the
body or its members.

But what has been true of certain corporations for a very short
space of their development cannot be applied to all the corpora-
tive regime. Far from having acquired a sort of moral infirmity
from its constitution, it has especially played a moral role during
the major part of its history. This is particularly evident in
the Roman corporations. “The corporations of workers,” says
Waltzing, “were, with the Romans, far from having an occupa-
tional character as pronounced as in the Middle Ages ; we find
there neither regulation of methods, nor imposed apprenticeship,
nor monopoly; nor was their end to unite the necessary ele-

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

11

ments to exploit an industry.” ** To be sure, the association '
gave them more force in time of need for safeguarding their
common interests. But that was only one of the useful conse-
quences produced by the institution; that was not its raison
d'Ure, its principal function. Above all, the corporation was a
re ligious organizatio n. Each one had its particular god whose
cult was celebrated in a special temple when the means were
available. In the same way as each family had its Lar fami-
liaris; each city its Genius publicus, each organization had its
protecting god, Genius collegii. Naturally, this occupational
cult did not dispense with celebrations, with sacrifices and ban-
quets in common. All sorts of circumstances were used as
reasons for these joyful gatherings. Moreover, distribution
of food-stuffs and money often took place at the community’s
expense. There have been questions as to whether the corpora-
tion had a sick-fund ; if it regularly helped those members who
were in neecT t5pinions on this point are divergent.*® But
what lends interest and import to this discussion is that these
common banquets, more or less periodic, and the distribution
accompan 3 dng them, o ften took t he place of help, and fprmed ,
a bureau of indirect assistance. Thus, the unfortunate knew '
they could count on this disguised aid. As corollary to this
religious character, the organization of workmen was, at the
same time, a burial society. United in a cult during their
lives, like the Gentiles, the members of these corporations also
wished to rest together after death. All the fairly rich corporar
tions had a collective columbarium where, when the organization
had riot the funds to buy a burial plot, there was at least the
certainty that its members would have honorable burial at the
expense of the common fund.

f A common cult, common banquets, a common cemetery, all
united together, — are these not all the distinctive character-
istics of the domestic organization at the time of the Romans?

“ Op. oil., I, p. 194.

” The majority of historians believe that certain organisations, at least, were
mutual-aid societies.

12

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

Thus, it has been said that the Roman corjwration was a “great
family.” “No word,” says Waltzing, “better indicates the
nature of the relations uniting the brotherhood, and a great
many indigations prove a great fraternity reigned in their
midst.” f^he coipmunity of interests took the place of the
community^ blood^ “The members looked upon themselves
as brothers, even to- the extent of calling themselves by that
name.” The most ordinary expression, as a matter of fact,
was that of sodales, but even that word expresses a spiritual
relationship impl3dng a narrow fraternity. The protectors of
the organization often took the names of father and mother.
“A proof of the devotion the brothers had for their organization
lies in the bequests and donations they made. There are also
funereal monuments upon which are found : Pius in coUegio,
he was faithful towards his organization, as if one said, Pius in
suos.” This familial life was so developed that Boissier
makes it the principal aim of all the Roman corporations.
“Even in the workers’ corporations,” he says, “there was
association principally for the pleasure of living together, for
finding outside oneself distractions from fatigue and boredom,
to create an intimacy less restrained than the family, and less
extensive than the city, and thus to make life easier and more
agreeable.”

As Chr istian spcieties belong to a social type very different
from the city-state, the corporations of the Middle Ages do not
exactly resemble the Roman corporations. But they also con-
stitute a moral environg a gnt f or their members. “The corpora-
tion,” says Levasseur, “united people of the same occupation
by strong bonds. Rather often they were established in the
parish house, or in a particular chapel and put themselves under
the invocation of a saint who became the patron saint of all
the community. . . . There they gathered, attended with great
ceremony the solemn masses ; after which the members of the
brotherhood went, all together, to end their ‘day in joyous

“ Op. cU., I. p. 330.

“ Op. cie., I, p. 331. *• La ReUgion romaxne, II, pp. 287-288.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

13

feasting. In this way the corporations of the Middle Ages
closely resembled those of Roman times.” The corporation”
moreover, often used part of its budgetary funds for charity. «

Moreover, precise rules fixed the respective duties of em-
ployers and workmen, as well as the duties of employers toward
each other, for each occupation. There are, to be sure, regu-
lations not in accord with our present ideas, but judgment must
be made according to the ethics of the time, since that is what
the rules express. What is indisputable is that they are all'
inspired by zeal, not for individuals, but for corporative interest,!
whether poorly or well understood. Now the subordination
of private utility to common utility, whatever it may be, always
has a moral character, for it necessarily implies sacrifice and
abnegation. In addition, a great many of these rules proceeded
from moral sentiments still ours today.‘* The valet was pro-
tected from the caprices of his master who could not dismiss
him at will. It is true that the obligation was reciprocal ; but
besides this reciprocity being just in itself, it is still more justified
by reason of the important privileges the worker enjoyed then.
Thus, masters were forbidden to negate his right to work, which
allowed him to seek assistance from his neighbors, or even their
wives. In short, as Levasseur says, “these regulations con-
cerning the apprentices and workmen are worthy of considera-
tion by historian and economist. They are not the work of a
barbarous century. They carry the mark of worth-while minds
and good, common sense, worthy of observation.” Finally, a
system of rules was designed to guarantee occupational honesty.
All sorts of precautions were taken to prevent the merchant or
workman from deceiving the buyer, to compel him “ to perform
good, loyal work.” To be sure, a time came when the rules
became uselessly complicated, when the masters were a great
deal busier safeguarding their privileges than caring about the

” Op. eU., I, pp. 217-218.

cit., I, p.‘221. — See, on the same moral character of the corpora-
tion in Germany, Gierke, Das Deutsche Genossenschaftswesen, I, p. 384; for
England, Ashley, An Introduction to English Economic History and Theory.

« Op. cit., p. 238. *0 Op. cit., pp. 240-261.

14

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

^good name of the occupation and the honesty of their members.
But there is no institution which, at some given moment, does
not degenerate, either because it does not know how to change
-and mobilize anew, or because it develops unilaterally, over-
doing some of its activities. This makes it unsuited to furnish
the services with which it is charged. That is reason to seek
its reformation, not to declare it forever useless, nor to
destroy it.

Whatever it may be from this standpoint, the preceding facts
sufficiently prove that the-bccupational group is not incapable of
exerting moral action. The considerable place that religion
took in life, in Rome as well as in the Middle Ages, makes par-
ticularly evident the true nature of its functions, for all religious
community then constituted a moral milieu, in the same way
as all moral discipline tended forcibly to take a religious form.
And besides, this character of corporative organization comes
from very general causes that can be seen acting in other cir-
cumstances.^When a certain number of individuals in the
midst of a political society are found to have ideas, interests,
sentiments, and occupations not shared by the rest of the popu-
lation, it is inevitable that they will be attracted toward each
other under the influence of these likenesses. They will seek
each other out, enter into relations, associate, and thus, little
by little, a restricted group, having its special characteristics,
will be formed in the midst of the general society. But once
the group is formed, a moral life appears naturally carrjdng the
mark of the particular conditions in which it has developed.
For it is impossible for men to live together, associating in in-
dustry, without acquiring a sentiment of the whole formed by
their union, without attaching themselves to that whole, pre-
occupying themselves with its interests, and taking account of it
in their conduct. This attachment has in it something surpass:\
ing the individual. This subordination of particular interests]
to the general interest is, indeed, the source of all moral activity ._
As this sentiment grows more precise and determined, applying
itself to the most ordinary and the most important circumstances

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

15

of Ijfe, it is translated into definitive formulae, and thus a body
of moral rules is in process of establishment.

At the same time that this result is produced of itself and
by the force of circumstances, it is useful and the feeling of its
utility lends confirmation to it. Socie^ is not alone in its
interest in the formation of special groups to regulate their own
activity, developing within them what otherwise would become
anarchic; but the individual, on his part, finds joy in it, for
anarchy is pmhful to him. He also suffers from pain and dis-
order produced whenever inter-individual relations are not
submitted to some regulatory influence. It is not good for
man to live with the threat of war in the midst of his immediate
companions. This sensation of general hostility, the mutual
defiance resulting from it, the tension it necessitates, are diffi-
cult states when they arc chronic. If we love war, we also love
the joys of peace, and the latter are of more worth as men are
more profoundly socialized, which is to say (for the two words^
are ssmonymous) more profoundly civilized. Common life is
, attractive as well as coercive. Doubtless, constraint is neces-
sary to lead man to surpass himself, to add to his physical nature
another ; but as he learns the charm of this new life, he contracts
the need for it, and there is no order of activity in which he
does not seek it passionately. That is why when individuals
who are found to have common interests associate, it is not only
to defend these interests, it is to associate, that is, not to feel
lost among adversaries, to have the pleasure of communing,
to make one out of many, which is to say, finally, to lead the
same moral life together.

Domestic morality is not otherwise formed. Because of the
prestige the family has in our eyes, it seems to us that if it has
been, and if it is always, a school of devotion, of abnegation, the
place par excellence of morality, it is because of quite particular,
intrinsic characteristics found nowhere else. It is believed that
cons anguinit y^ is an exceptionally powerful cause of moral
relationsEip. But we have often had the occasion for showing

” See especially Annie eociologique, I, pp. 313 ff.

16

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

that consanguinity has not the extraordinary efficacy attributed
to it. The proof is that in many societies the non-blood rela-
tions are found in numbers in the centre of the family; the
so-called relationship is then contracted with great facility, and
it has all the effects of a blood-tie. Inversely, it often happens
that very near blood relations are, morally or juridically,
strangers to each other; for example, the case of cognates in
the Roman family. The family does not then owe its virtues
to the unity of descent ; it is quite simply a group of individuals
who find themselves related to one another in the midst of
political society by a particularly strong community of ideas,
of sentiments and interests. Consanguinity facilitates this
concentration, for it causes m utual adaptation of con^ iences.
But a great many other factors come into play: material
neighborhood, solidarity of interests, the need of uniting against
a common danger, or simply to unite, are other powerful causes
of relationship.

Now, they are not special to the family, but they are found,
although in different forms, in the corporation. If, then, the
first of these groups has played so considerable a role in the
moral history of hum^ity, why should the second be incapable
of doing the same? ^'To be sure, there is always this difference
between them, that members of a family live their lives together,
while members a cqrpor^ion li^ only th eir occupatio nal
lives together! The family is a sort of complete society whose
action controls our economic activity as well as our religious,
political, scientific activities. Anything significant we do, even
outside the house, acts upon it, and provokes appropriate re-
actions. The sphere of influence of a corporation is, in a sense,
more restricted . Still, we must not lose sight of the increas-
ingly important position the occupation takes in life as work
becomes more specialized, for the field of each individual activity
tends steadily to become delimited by the functions with which
the individual is particularly charged. Moreover, if familial
action extends everywhere, it can only be general; detail
escapes it. Finally, the family, in losing the unity and indi-

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

17

visibility of former times, has lost with one stroke a great part
of its efficacy. As it is today broken up with each generation,
I man passes a notable part of his existence far from all domestic
'influence.** The corporation has none of these disturbances;
it is as continuous as life. The inferiority that it presents, in
comparison with the family, has its compensation.

If we find it necessary thus to bring together th e family and
the corporation, it is not simply to establish an instructive
paraflei between them, but because the two institutions are
closely connected. This is observable in the history of Roman
corporations. We have seen, indeed, that they were formed
on the model of domestic society, of which they were at first
only a new and enlarged form. But, the occupational group
would not, at this point, recall the familial group, if there were
not some bond of relation between them. And, indeed, the
corporation has been, in a sense, t he heir of the family . As
long as industry is exclusively agricultural, it has, in the family
and in the village, which is itself only a sort of great family,
its immediate organ, and it needs no other. As exchange is
not, or is very little, developed, the farmer’s life does not extend
outside the familial circle. Economic activity, having no con-
sequences outside the family, is sufficiently regulated by the
family, and the family itself thus serves as occupational group.
But the case is no longer the same once trades exist. For to
live by a trade, customers are necessary, and going outside the
house to find them is necessary, as is having relations with
competitors, fighting against them, coming to an understanding
with them. In addition, trades demand cities, and cities have
alwa3rs been formed and recruited principally from the ranks
of immigrants, individuals who have left their native homes.
A new form of activity was thus constituted which burst from
the old familial form. In order not to remain in an unor-
ganized state, it was necessary to create a new form, which
would be fitting to it ; or otherwise said, it was necessary for a
secondary group of a new kind to be formed. This is t he ori^

** We have developed this idea in Le Suicide, p. 433.

18

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

-<rf-the cor poration ; it was substituted for the family in th e
exercise of a function whi ch had first b een domestic, but which
couldTib longer Iceep this character. Such an origin does not
allow us to attribute to it that sort of constitutional amorality
which is generally gratuitously bestowed upon it. Just as the
family has elaborated domestic ethics and law, the corporation
is now the source of occupational ethics and law.

Ill

But to succeed in getting rid of all the prejudices, to show
that the corporative system is not solely an institution of the
past, it would be necessary to see what transformation it mu st
and can submitjtojn order to adapt itse lf to modern soc ieties.
foF-Svtdehfry it cannot exist today as it did in the Middle
Ages.

To treat this question systematically, it would be necessary
first to establish in what manner the corporative regi me has
evolved in the past and what are the cause s which have deter-
mined the principal variations it has g gne through. Being
given the conditions in which European societies find themselves,
one would be able to foresee fairly accurately what it must be-
come. But for that, comparative studies, which have not yet
been made, would be necessary. These can only be made as
we proceed. However, we can perhaps see, in a most general
way, what the development has been.

We have seen from the preceding that the corporation in
Rome did not become what it later did- in Christian societies.
Its difference does not rest only in its more religious and less
. occupational character, but in the place it occupied in society.
It was, indeed, at least in origin, an extra-social institution.
The historian undertaking the study of Roman political organ-
ization in all its elements does not meet in the course of his
analysis any fact manifesting the existence of corporations.
They were not recognized in the Roman constitution as definite
associations. In none of the electoral assemhlies, in none of
the army meetings, did the workers get together in organiza-

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

tions ; the occupational group nowhere took part in public life
as such, either in a body or through regular representatives.
At most, there is a question as to three or four organizations
that have been identified with certain of the centuries set up
by Servius Tullius (tignarii, aearii, tihicines, comicines ) ; even
there the fact is problematical.^ And as for the other corpora-
tions, they were certainly outside the official organization of the
Roman people.^

This unusual situation is, in some part, explained by the very
conditions in which they were formed. They appear when
trades begin to develop. . Now, for a long time, trades were
only an accessory and secondary form of the social activity of
the Romans. Rome was essentially an agricultural and mili-
tary society. As agricultural, it was divided into genies and
curia; the centurial assembly rather reflected the military
organization. As for the industrial functions, they were too
rudimentary to affect the political structure of the city.^® Be-
sides up to a late stage in Roman history, the trades were
socially outlawed and were not allowed any regular place in
the State. To be sure, there came a time when their social
condition improved. But the manner in which this improve-
ment was achieved is in itself significant. To succeed in having
their interests respected, and to play a role in public life, the
workers had to resort to irregular and extra-legal procedures.
They triumphed over scorn only by means of intrigues, plots,
and clandestine agitation.*® This alone is the best proof that
Roman society was not open to them. And if, later, they

** It appears most likely that the centuries thus marked off did not comprise
all the carpenters and blacksmiths, but only those manufacturing or repairing
arms and war-machines. Dionysius of Halicarnassus formally tells us that
workmen thus grouped had a purely military function, €ts t6v 7roX€/x6i/; these
were not, therefore, guilds, properly speaking, but divisions of the army.

All we say of the situation of the corporations entirely leaves aside the
controversial question as to whether, originally, the State intervened in their
formation. Even if they had been under State control from the very beginning
(which does not appear likely) it still is true that they did not affect the political
structure. That is what is important for us.

** If one probes deeper, their situation is even stranger. At Athens they are
not only extra-social, but almost extra-legal.

*• Waitsing, op, cit,, I, pp. 86 ff.

20

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

finally became an integral part of the State and of the adminis-
trative machine, it cannot be said that this was a glorious
triumph for them, but rather a painful dependence. If they
then became a part of the State, itw^is not to occupy the posi-
tion which their social services might rightfully give them,,
but simply so that they could be more adroitly watched by the|
governmental power. “The corporation,” says Levasseur,
“became the chain which made them captives, and imperial
power became more oppressive as their work became more
difficult or more necessary to the State.”

Their place in the Middle Ages is quite another matter.
There, as soon as the corporation appears, it appears as the nor-
mal mould for that part of the population called to play such a
considerable role in the State: theJbQUjgeoisie or th e third
estate. Indeed, for a long time, the bourgeoisie'ahd trades-
people are one and the same. “The bourgeoisie in the thir-
teenth century,” says Levasseur, “was exclusively composed
of tradespeople. The class of magistrates and legists had
scarcely begun to be formed ; the scholars still belonged to the
Church ; the number of men receiving incomes from property
was still restricted, because territorial property was then
almost entirely in the hands of nobles. There remained to the
commoner only the work of the shop and the counter ; and it
was by industry or commerce that they had conquered for
themselves a place in the kingdom.” ** It was the same in
Germany. Bourgeois and citizen were synonymous terms^
and, moreover, we know that the German cities were formed
about permanent markets, opened by a nobleman on a part of
his domain.®* The population grouping itself around these
markets, which became the urban population, was then al-
most exclusively made up of workers and merchants. Thus,
the word forenses or mercator'es was used indifferently to
designate the inhabitants of cities, and the tus civile or urban

Op. dt., I, p. 31.

** Op. cti., I, p. 191.

** See Rietschel, Markt und Stadt in ihrem recktlichen VerhOdinUa^ Leipzig,
1897, and all the work of Sohm on this question.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

21

law is very often called ins fori or law of the market. The
organization of trades and of commerce seems, then, to have
been the primitive organization of the European bourgeoisie.

Thus, when the cities freed themselves from the seignorial
power^ when the commune was formed, the body of trad es
which ^d preceded and prepared this movement became the
foundation of . the communal constitution. Indeed, “in al-
most all the communes, the political system and the election of
magistrates are founded on the division of citizens into bodies of
trades.” Very often, votes were cast by bodies of trades,
and elected, at the same time, the heads of the corporation and
those of the commune. “At Amiens, the workers, for example,
united every year to elect the mayors of each corporation;
the elected mayors then named twelve sheriffs who named
twelve others, and the sheriffship presented in its turn to the
mayors of the corporations three persons from among whom
they chose the mayor of the commune. ... In some cities,
the method of election was still more complicated, but, in all,
the political and municipal organization was narrowly re-
stricted to the organization of work.” Just as the commune
was an aggregate of trades-bodies, the trades-bodies were
communes on a small scale, for the very reason that they had
been the model of which the communal institution was the
enlarged and developed form.

Now, we know from the history of our societies that the com-
mune has become their corner-stone. Consequently, since it
was a combination of corporations, and was formed on the style
of a corporation, it is the latter, in the last analysis, which has
served as foundation for all the political system which has issued
from the communal movement. It has grown in importance
and dignity. Whereas in Rome it began by being almost out-
side the normal framework, it has, on the contrary, served a s
ele mentary fram ework in our presient societies. This is another
reason for our refusing to see in it a sort of archaic institution,
destined to disappear from history. For if, in the past, the

•• Op. cU., I, p. 193. « Ibid., I, p. 183.

22 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

role it played became more vital as commerce and industry
developed, it is entirely unreasonable to believe that new
economic progress can drive it out of existence. The opposite
hypothesis seems more justified.®*

But there is more knowledge to be gathered from the summary
we have just made.

sX^First of all, it shows us how the corporation has fallen into
discredit for about two centuries, and, consequently, what it
must become in order to take its place again among our public
institutions. We have just seen, indeed, that in the form it
had in the Middle Ages it was narrowly bound to the organ-
ization of the commune. This solidarity was without incon-
venience as long as the trades themselves had a communal
character. While, as originally, merchants and workers had
only the inhabitants of the city or its immediate environs for
customers, which means as long as the market was principally
local, the bodies of trades, with their municipal organization,
answered all needs. But it was no longer the same once great
in dustry was b orn. As it had nothing especially urban about
it, it could not adapt itself to a system which had not been
made for it. First, it does not necessarily have its centre in a
city ; it can even be established outside all pre-existing rural or
urban agglomerations. It looks for that territory where it can
best maintain itself and thrive. Thus, its field of action is
limited to no determined region ; its clientele is recruited every-
where. An institution so entirely wrapped up in the commune
as was the old corporation could not then be used to encompass
and regulate a form of collective activity which was so com-
pletely foreign to the communal life.

And, indeed, as soon as great industry appeared, it was found

^ It is true that, when trades are organized into castes, they soon take a place
in social organization, as in the case of Indian society. But the caste is not the
corporation. It is essentially a familial and religious group, not an occupational
poup. Each has its degree of peculiar religiousness. And as society is organ-
ized religiously, this religiousness, depending upon various causes, assigns to each
caste a determined rank in the totality of the social system. But its economic
role is nothing in this oflScial situation. (Cf. Bougl6, Remarques sur h rigime dea
eastest Annie Sociologique, IV.)

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

23

to be outside th e corporative regim e, and that was what caused
ithe bodies of trades to do all in their power to prevent indus-
f(try’s progress. Nevertheless, it was certainly not freed of all
regulation ; in the beginning the State played a role analogous
to that which the corporations played for small-scale commerce
and urban trades. At the same time as the royal power accorded
the manufacturers certain privileges, in return it submitted
them to its control. That is indicated in the title of royal
manufacturers. But as it is well known how unsuited the
IState is for this function, this direct control could not fail to
tbecome oppressive. It was almost impossible from the time
great industry reached a certain degree of development and
diversity ; that is why classical economists demanded its sup-
pression, and with good cause. But if the corporation, as it
then existed, could not be adapted to this new form of industry,
and if the State could not replace the old corporative dis-
cipline, it does not follow that all-diaciplme would be usele ss,
thenceforward. It simply meant that the old corporation had\
to be transformed to continue to fill its role in the new con- >
ditions of economic life. Unfortunately, it had not enough
suppleness to be reformed in time; that is why it was dis-
carded. Because it did not know how to assimilate itself to
the new life which was evolving, it was divorced from that life,
and, in this way, it became what it was upon the eve of the
Revolution, a sort of dead substance, a strange body which
could maintain itself in the social organism only through inertia. _
/It is then not surprising that a moment came when it was vio-
lently expelled. But to destroy it was not a means of giving
satisfaction to the needs it had not satisfied. And that is the
reason the question still remains with us, and has become still
more acute after a century of groping and fruitless experience.

The work of the sociologist is not that of the statesman rp
We do not have to present in detail what this reform should be.
It will be sufficient to indicate the general principles as they
appear from the preceding facts.

(g) DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

What the experience of the past proves, above all, is that the
framework of the occupational group must always have re-
lations with the framework of economic life. It is because
of this lack of relationship that the corporative regime dis-
appeared. Since the market, formerly municipal, has become
national and international, the corporations must assume the
same extension. Instead of being limited only to the workers
of a city, it must enlarge in such a way as to include all the
members of the occupation scattered over the territory for
in whatever region they are found, whether they live in the
city or the country, they are all solidary, and partic ipate in a
common life. Since this common life is, in certain respects,
independent of all territorial determinations, the appropriate
organ must be created that expresses and regularizes its
function. Because of these dimensions, such an organ would
necessarily be in direct contact with the central organ of the
collective life, for the rather important events which interest a
whole category of industrial enterprises in a country necessarily
have very general repercussions of which the State cannot fail
to take cognizance ; hence it intervenes. Thus, it is not with-
out reason that royal power tended instinctively not to allow
great industry outside its control when it did appear. It was
impossible for it not to be interested in a form of activity
which, by its very nature, can always affect all society. But
this regulatory action, if it is necessary, must not degenerate
into narrow subordination, as happened in the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries. The two rdated organs must
remain distinct and autonomous; each of them has its func-
tion, which it alone can take care of. If the function of making
general principles of industrial legislation belongs to the gov-
ernmental assemblies, they are incapable of diversifying them
according to the different industries. It is this diversification

^ We do not have to speak of international organization which, in conse-
quence of the international character of the market, would necessarily develop
above this national organization, for the latter alone can actually constitute a
juridical institution. The first, under present European law, can result only in
freely concluded arrangements between national corporations.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

26

which constitutes the proper task of the corporation.®^ This
Unitarian organization for a whole country in no way excludes
the formation of secondary organs, comprising workers of the
same region, or of the same locality, whose role would be to
specialize still more the occupational regulation according to
the local or regional necessities. Economic life would thus be
regulated and determined without losing any of its diversity. — ■

For that very reason, the corporative regime would be pro-
tected against that tendency towards immobility that it has
often been charged with in the past, for it is a fault which is
rooted in the narrowly communal character of the corporation.
As long as it was limited to the city, it was inevitable for it to
become a prisoner of tradition as the city itself. As, in a group
so restricted, the conditions of life are almost invariable, habit
exercises a terrific effect upon people, and even innovations are
dreaded. \The - traditionalism of the corporations was thus
only an aspect of the communal traditionalism, and had the
same qualities. Then, once it was ingrained in the mores, it
survived the causes which had produced and originally justified
it. That is why, when the material and moral concentration
of the country, and great industry which is its consequence,
had opened minds to new desires, awakened new needs, intro-
duced into the tastes and fashions a mobility heretofore un-
known, the corporation, which was obstinately attached to its
cld customs, was unable to satisfy these new exigencies. But
national corporations, by virtue of their dimension and com-
plexity, would not be exposed to this danger. Too many di-

^ This specialization could be made only with the aid of elected assemblies
charged to represent the corporation. In the present state of industry, these
assemblies, in the same way as tribunals charged with applying the occupational
regulations, should evidently be comprised of representatives of employees and
representatives of employers, as is already the case in the tribunals of skilled
trades; and that, in proportions corresponding to the respective importance
attributed by opinion to these two factors in production. But if it is necessary
that l^th meet in the directing councils of the corporations, it is no less impor-
tant that at the base of the corporative organization they form distinct and
independent groups, for their interests are too often rival and antagonistic. To
be able to go about their ways freely, they must go about their ways separately.
The two groups thus constituted would then be able to appoint their repre-
sentatives to the common assemblies.

26

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

/verse minds would be in action for stationary uniformity to be
lestablished. In a group formed of numerous and varied ele-
ments, new combinations are always being produced.®* There
would then be nothing rigid about such an organization, and
it would consequently find itself in harmony with the mobile
equilibrium of needs and ideas.

Besides, it must not be thought that the entire function of
the corporation is to make rules and apply them. To be sure,
where a group is formed, a moral discipline is formed too. But
the institution of this discipline is only one of the many ways
through which collective activity is manifested . A group is
not only a moral authority which dominates the life of its
members ; it is also a source of life su i generic From it comes
a warmth wEicEi animates its members, making tliem intensely
^uman, ~3esFroying their egotisms. Thus, in the past, the
family was the legislator of law and ethics whose severity went
to extremes of violence, at the same time that it was the place
where one first learned to enjoy the effusions of sentiment. We
have also seen how the corporation, in Rome and in the Middle
Ages, awakened these same needs and sought to satisfy them.
The corporations of the future will have a complexity of attri-
butes still greater, by reason of their increased growth. Around
their proper occupational functions others which come from the
communes or private societies will be grouping themselves.
The functions of assistance are such that, to be well filled, they
demand feelings of solidarity between assistants and assisted,
a certain intellectual and moral homogeneity such as the same
occupation produces. A great many educational institutions
(technical schools, adult education, etc.) equally seem to have
to find their natural environment in the corporation. It is the
same for aesthetic life, for it appears in the nature of things
that this noble form of sport and recreation develops side by
side with the serious life which it serves to balance and relieve.
In fact, there are even now syndicates which are at the same
time societies of mutual aid; others found common houses
Book II, ch. iii, § 4.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

27

where there are organized courses, concerts, and dramatic
presentations. The corporative activity can thus assume the
most varied forms.

There is even reason to suppose that the corporation will
become the foundation or one of the essential bases of our politi-
cal organization. We have seen, indeed, that if it first begins I
by being outside the social system, it tends to fix itself in it in ,
proportion to the development of economic life. It is, there-
fore, just to say that if progress continues to be made in this
direction, it will have to take a more prominent and more
predominant place in society. It was formerly the elementary
division of communal organization. Now that the commune,
heretofore an autonomous organism, has lost its place in the
State, as the municipal market did in the national market,
is it not fair to suppose that the corporation also will have
to experience a corresponding transformation, becoming the
elementary division of the State, the fundamental political
unity? So ciety, instea d of remaining what it is today, an
ag gregate nf jiivtanosed territorial ~dislncts. wo uld b ecome a
vas t system of national corporatio ns. From various quarters it
is asked that elective assemblies be formed by occupations, and
not by territorial divisions ; and certainly, in this way, politi-
cal assemblies would more exactly express the diversity of
social interests and their relations. They would be a more
faithful picture of social life in its entirety. !l^ut to say that
t he nation, in becoming aware of itself, .must te group ed into
o ccupatio ns, — does not this mean that the organized occupa-
ti on or corporation sh^ld be the essential organ of pu blic life?

Thus the great gap in the structure of European societies we
elsewhere point to would be filled. It will be seen, indeed,
how, as advances are made in history, the organization which
has territorial groups as its base (village or city, district, prov-
ince, etc.) steadily becomes effaced. To be sure, each of us
belongs to a commune, or a department, but the bonds attach-
ing us there became daily more fragile and more slack. These

“ See pp. 218-219.

28

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

geographical divisions are, for the most part, artificial and no
longer awaken in us profound sentiments. The pr ovinc ial
spirit has disappeared never to return ; the pa triotism of the
parish has become an archaism that cannot be restored at will.
The m unicip al or departmental affairs affect and agitate us in
proportion to their coincidence with our occupational affairs.
Our activity is extended quite beyond these groups which are
too narrow for it, and, moreover, a good deal of what happens
there leaves us indifferent. There is thus produced a spontane-
ous weakening of the old social structure. Now, it is impossible
for this organization to disappear without something replacing
it. A society composed of an infinite number of unorganized
individuals, that a hypertrophied State is forced to oppress and
contain, constitutes a veritable sociological monstrosity. Fm
collective activity is always too complex to be able to be ex-,
pressed through the single and unique organ of the StateJ
Moreover, the State is too remote from individuals ; its relations
with them too external and intermittent to penetrate deeply into
Jndividual consciences and socialize them within. Where the
State is the only environment in which men can live communal
lives, they inevitably lose contact, become detached, and thus^
TOciety disintegrates, y A na tion can be maint ained onl y if. b e-
t ween £he Stale'and the individual, there is int ercalat ^a wh ole
s eries of secondary groups near enough to the individuals to
attract them sjbrongly in th eir sphere of action and drag the m,
i n this w a v, into the general torrent of social life. We hav e
j ust sho^ how occupational g roups are juit^Jo _fill Ihis jrqle,
a nd that is their destinyX One thus conceives how important
it is, especiaiiy inthe Economic order, for them to emerge from
that state of inconsistency and disorganization in which they
have remained for a century, since these occupations today
absorb the major part of our collective forces.®^

We do not mean that the territorial divisions are destined to disappear
entirely, but only that they will become of less importance. The old institu-
tions never vanish before the new without leaving any traces of themselves.
They persist, not only through sheer force of survival, but because there still
persists something of the needs they once answered. The material neighbor-

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

29

Perhaps now we shall be better able to explain the conclusions
we reached at the end of our book, Le Suicide.^^ We were
already proposing there a strong corporative organization as'
a means of remedying the misfortune which the increase in
suicides, together with many other symptoms, evinces. Cer-
tain critics have found that the remedy was not proportionate
to the extent of the evil, but that is because they have under-
valued the true nature of the corporation, and the place to which
it is destined in social life, as well as the grave anomaly result-
ing from its disappearance. They have seen only an utilitarian
association whose effect would at best bring order to economic
interests, whereas it must really be the essential element of our
social structure. The absence of all corporative institution
creates, then, in the organization of a people like ours, ajwid
whose Jmportance it is difficult to exaggerate. It is a whole/
system of organs necessary in the normal functioning of the/
common life which is wanting. Such a constitutive lack is
evidently not a local evil, limited to a region of society ; it is
a malady toHus substantiae, affecting all the organism. Conse-
quently, the attempt to put an end to it cannot fail to produce
the most far reaching consequences, vlt is the general health
of the social body which is here at stake. •

That does not mean, however, that the corporation is a sort
of panacea for everything. The crisis through which we are
passing is not rooted in a single and unique cause. To put an
end to it, it is not sufficient to regulate it where necessary.

^ Justic ejnust prevail. Now, as we shall say further on, “as
long as there are rich and poor at birth, there cannot be just
contract,” nor a just distribution of social goods.** But if the

hood will always constitute a bond between men ; consequently, political and
social organization with a territorial base will certainly exist. Only, they wlU
not have their present predominance, precisely because this bond has lost its
force. Moreover, wo have shown above, that even at the base of the corpora-
tion, there will always be found geographical divisions. Furthermore, between
the diverse corporations of the same locality or region there will necessarily be
special relations of solidarity which will, at all times, demA d appropriate organi-
sation.

•* Le Suicide, pp. 434 ff .

** See below, Book III, ch. ii.

30

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

corporative reform does not dispense with the others, it is the
first condition for their efficacy. Let us imagine that the
primordial condition of ideal justice may be realized ; let us
suppose that men enter life in a state of perfect economic equal-
ity, which is to say, that riches have entirely ceased being
hereditary. The problems in the environment with which we
were struggling would not be solved by that. Indeed, there
will always be an economic apparatus, and various agents collab-
orating in its functioning. It will then be necessary to deter-
mine their rights and duties, and that, for each form of industry.
It will be necessary that in each occupation a body of laws be
made fixing the quantity of work, the just remuneration of the
different officials, their duties toward each other, and toward the
community, etc. Life will bfe just as complex as ever. Be-
cause riches will not be transmitted any longer as they are to-,
day will not mean that the state of anarchy has disappeared, for,
it is^ot a question as to the ownership of riches, bu t as to tE ej
regulation of the activity to which these riches give ri se.
will not regulate itself by magic, as soon as it is useful, if the
necessary forces for the institution of this regulation have not
been aroused and organized.

Moreover, new difficulties will arise which will remain insol-
uble without a corporative organization. Up to now, it was the
family which, either through collective property or descendence,
j assured the continuity of economic life, by the possession and
exploitation of goods held intact, or, from the time the old
familial communism fell away, the nearest relatives received
the goods of the deceased.*® In the case of collective property,
neither death nor a new generation changed the relations of
things to persons ; in the case of descent, the change was made
automatically, and the goods, at no time, remained unowned and
unused. But if domestic society can not play thi^rolj^any
longer, th^ must 1^ another social organ to replace its exercise

It is true that where a will is permitted the proprietor can determine the
transmission of his property. But a will only gives the right to act contrary to
the law of succession. This law is the norm according to which the transfers
are made. These cases are very generally limited and are always exceptional.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION fel

of this necessary function. For there is only one way of pre-
venting the periodic suspension of any activity : a group, per-
petual as the family, must possess goods and exploit them
itself, or, at the death of the owner, receive them and send them
to some other individual holder to improve them. But as we
have shown, the State is poorly, equipped to supervise these
very specialized economic tasks. There is, then, only the
occupational group which can capably look after them. It
answers, indeed, tw o necessary condi tions ; it is so closely co n-
necte d with the economic life that it feels its needs, at the sam e
time havi ng a perpetuity at least equal to the fam ily. But to
fill this role, it must exist and be mature enough to take care of
the new and complex role which devolves upon it.

If the problem of the corporation is not the only one demand-
ing public attention, there is certainly none more urgent, for
the others can be considered only when this has been solved.
No modification, no matter how small, can be introduced into
the juridical order, if one does not begin by creating the neces-
sary organ for the institution of the new law. That is why it is
vain to delay by seeking precisely what this law must be, for in
the present state of knowledge, our approximation will be clumsy
and always open to doubt. How much more important it is to
put ourselves at once to work establishing the moral forces
which alone can determine its realization !

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

This book is pre-eminently an attempt to treat the facts of
tlie moral life according to the method of the positive sciences.
But a use has been made of this method that distorts its mean-
ing, and which we oppose. The moralists who deduce their
doctrines, not from some a priori principle, but from some
propositions borrowed from one or more of the positive sciences
like biology, psychology, sociology, call their ethics scientific.
We do not propose to follow this method. We do not wish to
extract ethics from science, but to establish the science of ethics,
which is quite different. /Moral facts are phenomena like
others ; they consist of rules of action recognizable by certain
distinctive characteristics, j It must, then, be possible to
^serve them, describe them, classify them, and look for the
laws explaining them.''' That is what we shall do for certain of
them. Perhaps it will be objected : What of the existence of
liberty? But truly if that implies the negation of all deter-
mined law, it is an insurmountable obstacle, not only for the
psychological and social, but for all sciences; for, as human
wills are always connected with some external events, the
existence of liberty makes determinism quite as unintelligible
outside, as within us. However, no one would argue about the
possibility of the physical and natural sciences. We claim the
same right for our science.*

Thus understood, this science is not in conflict with any
philosophy, since it has an entirely different basis. Possibly

‘ We have been reproached (Beudant, Le Droit individuel et VEiaJt^ p. 244) for
having qualified this question of liberty as somewhat overnice. We meant
nothing disdainful by the treatment. If we put the problem aside, it is solely
be(;ause the solution that is given it, whatever it may he, can offer no obstacle to
our investigation.

32

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

33

ethics may have some* transcendental aim beyond experience;
that is the concern of the metaphysician. Certainly it does
develop in history and in the realm of historic causes ; it has a
function in our every-day life. Whatever it is at any given
moment, the conditions in which men live do not permit its
being otherwise, a nd the pr oof is that it changes.^. conditions
chang^ and only then. It is no longer possible to believe that
mor^ evolution consists in the development of the same idea,
confused and uncertain with primitive man, little by little
growing clearer and more precise with the spontaneous progress
of knowledge. If the ancient Romans had not the wide concep-
tion of humanity we haye today, it is not the result of an error
due to the narrowness of their understanding, but simply that
such ideas were incompatible with the nature of the Roman
world. Our cosmopolitanism could no more appear there than
a plant can grow on a toil incapable of feeding it ; thus trans-
planted, it would die. If, on the other hand, it has since made
its appearance, it is not as a consequence of philosophical dis-
coveries; it is not because our minds have been opened to
truths they scorned ; the changes produced in th e structure of_
societies have made necessary the change in customs. ,'The
moral law, then, is formed, transformed, and maintained in
accordance with changing demands ; these are the only condi-
tions the science of ethics tries to determine. >

Although we set out primarily to study reality, it does not
follow that we do not wish to improve it ; we should judge our
researches to have no worth at all if they were to have only a
speculative interest. If we separate carefully the theoretical
from the practical problems, it is not to the neglect of the latter ;
but, on the contrary, to be in better position to solve them.
However, it is the custom to reproach those who undertake to
study ethics scientifically for their inability to formulate an
ideal. It is said that their respect for the fact does not permit
them to go beyond it ; that they are able to observe accurately
what is, but cannot supply rules of conduct for the future. We
hope this book will at least do away with that prejudice ; for

34 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCII^’Y

we shall see that science can help us adjust ourselves, deter-
mining the ideal toward which we are heading confusedly. But
we shall attain this ideal only after observing reality, and
, separating it from the ideal. But is it possible to proceed other-
wise? Even the most excessive idealists cannot proceed in any
other fashion ; for the ideal rests on nothing if it does not keep
its roots in reality. The essential difference is that they study
reality in a very summary fashion, often even contenting them-
selves with setting up an ideal, an exalted desire of the heart,
ihai stiU is but a fact, into a sort of imperative, before which they
submit their reason, and ask us to submit ours.

Some will object that the method of observation lacks rules
to judge the collected facts. But this rule grows out of the
facts themselves, as we shall have opportunity to demonstrate.
First of all, there is a state of moral health which science alone
is able to determine competently ; and, being nowhere wholly
realized, it becomes an ideal as we seek to draw near it. More-
over, the conditions of that state change because societies are
changing, and the gravest practical problems we have to solve
consist precisely in determining anew the moral health, func-
tionally, in relation to the changes which have occurred in the
environment. Now, science, in furnishing us the law of varia-
tions through which moral health has already passed, permits
us to anticipate those coming into being, which the new order of
•things demands. If we know in what sense the law of property
evolves as societies become larger and denser, and if some new
growth in size and density makes new modifications necessary,
we shall be able to foresee them, and foreseeing them, will them
beforehand. Finally, comparing the normal type with itself
— a strictly scientific operation — we shall be able to find if it
is not entirely in agreement with itself, if it contains contradic-
tions, which is to say, imperfections, and seek to eliminate them
or to correct them. yTh is is a new^Qj}ieciyyfiAhg.t. science offers
to the human will. But one may say, if science foresees, it does
not command. That is true. Science tells us simply what
is necessary to life. But obviously, the supposition, man wishes

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

35

to live, a very simple speculation, immediately transforms the
laws science establishes into imperative rules of conduct. To
be sure, it is then transformed into art ; but the passage from
science to art is made without a break. Even on the ultimate
question, whether we ought to wish to live, we believe science
is not silent.*

While the science of ethics does not make us indifferent or
resigned spectators of reality, at the same time it does teach
us to treat it with extreme prudence, imparting to us a con-
servative attitude. There has been good reason to upbraid
certain theories which are thought to be scientific for being
destructive and revolutionary ; but they are scientific in name
only. They construct, but they do not observe. They see in
ethics, not a collection of facts to study, but a sort of revocable
law-making which each thinker establishes for himself. Ethics
as practiced is then considered only as a collection of habits,
prejudices valuable only if they conform to the doctrine pro-
posed ; and as this doctrine is not induced from observation of
the moral facts, but borrowed from outside sciences, it inevi-
tably contradicts the existing moral order on more than one
point. But we are less exposed to that danger, for ethics is for
ius a system of realized facts^ bound up in the total world-
system. Now, legerdemain does not change a fact, even when
TOts Is desirable.'^ Beside, since it is bound up with other facts,
it cannot be modified without the modification of other facts,
and it is often quite difficult to calculate in advance the final
result of this series of repercussions; thus the boldest mind
becomes cautious before such risks. Finally, each vital fact —
and a moral fact is vital — cannot endure if it is not of some use,
if it does not answer some need ; until the opposite is proved
true, such vital facts are entitled to our respect. Doubtless
there comes a time when everything is not all it ought to be,
and IHat, consequently, will be the time to intervene. This is
what we have just proved. But the intervention then is
limited ; it has for its object, not to make an ethic completely

' We shall treat the question later. Book II, oh. i.

36

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

different from the prevailing one, but to correct the latter, or
partially to improve it.

^hus, the antithesis between science and ethics, that formi-.
daW argument with which the mystics of all times have wished
to cloud human reason, disappears. To govern our relations
with men, it is not necessary to resort to any other means than
those which we use to govern our relations with things ; thought,
methodically employed, is sufficient in either case. What
reconciles science and ethics is the science of ethics, for at the
same time that it teaches us to respect the moral reality, it
furnishes us the means to improve it.

We believe, then, that the reading of this work can, and
must be, approached without distrust and with no mental
reservation. At the same time, the reader must expect to meet
some propositions which will disrupt certain accepted ideas.
As we feel the need of understanding, or of believing we under-
stand, J^jreasonsfp£pur_conduct, thought is applied to ethics
before the latter has become tKe object of science. A certain
manner of representing and explaining to ourselves the prin-
cipal facts of the moral life has thus become habitual to us ; a
manner, however, having nothing scientific about it, for, being
formed by chance and without method, it results in summary
superficial examinations, made in passing, as it were. If we
do not free ourselves from these ready-made judgments, we
cannot grasp the considerations which follow ; science, here as
elsewhere, supposes a complete freedom of mind. We must
rid ourselves of that habit of seeing and judging which long
custom has fixed in us ; we must submit ourselves rigorously
to the discipline of the methodical doubt. Such doubt is, how-_
ever, not dangerous ; for it has nothing to do with the moral
reality, but with the explanation which incompetent and
badly informed thought gives it.

We must be careful to admit no explanation that does not
rest on authentic proofs. /The methods we have used in giving
the greatest possible exactness will thus be judged. To subject
an order of facts to science, it is not sufficient to observe them

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION 37

carefully, to describe and classify them, but what is a great deal
more difficult, we must also find, in the words of Descartes,
the way in which they are scientific, that is to say, to discover
in them some objective element that allows an exact determina-
tion, and if possible, measurement. We have tried to satisfy
this condition of all science. It will be distinctly seen how we
have studied social solidarity through the system of juridical
rules ; how, in the search for causes, we have put aside all that
too readily lends itself to personal judgments and subjective
appreciations,*' so as to reach certain rather profound facts of
the social structure, capable of being objects of judgment, and,
consequently, of science. At the same time, we must renounce
the method too often followed by sociologists who, to prove
their thesis, are content with citing without order and hap-’,
hazardly a more or less impressive number of favorable facts, -
paying no attention to contradictory facts. We have insisted
u^n true experiences, that is to say, methodical comparisons.
N^ertheless, no matter what precautions we take, it is quite
certain that such attempts can only be very imperfect as yet ;
but as def ective a s they may be, they must be attempted. '
There is, indeed, only one way of establishing a science and
that is by attempting it, but with method. Surely the attempt
is impossible if there be a question as to the primary materials.
But, on the other hand, it is a vain delusion to believe that the
best way to prepare for the advent of a science is first to accu-
mulate patiently all the mcoerials it will use, for one can know
what these needed materials are only if there is already some
presentiment of its essence and its needs, consequent if it exists.

This work had its origins in the question of the relations of
the individual to social solidarity. Why does the individual;
while becoming more autonomous, depend more upon society?
How can he be at once more individual and more solidary?
Certainly, these two movements, contradictory as they appear,
develop in parallel fashion. This is the problem we are raising.,
It appeared to us that what resolves this apparent antinomy is

38

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

a transformation of social solidarity due to the steadily growing
development of the division of labor. That is how we have
been led to make this the object of our study.®

> The question of social solidarity has already been studied in the second part
of Marion’s book Solidarite morale. But Marion has considered the problem
from another angle ; he is especially interested in establishing the reality of the
phenomenon of solidarity.

INTRODUCTION

THE PROBLEM

The division of labor is not of recent origin, but it was only
at the end of the eighteenth century that social cognizance
was taken of the principle, though, until then, unwitting sub-
mission had been rendered to it. To be sure, several thinkers
from earliest times saw its importance ; ‘ but Adam Smith was
the first to attempt a theory of it. Moreover, he adopted this
phrase that social science later lent to biology.

Nowadays, the phenomenon has developed so generally it
is obvious to all. “We need have no further illusions about the
tendencies of modern indust ry: it advances steadily towards
powerful machines^ towards great co ncen trations of forces and
ca(>ital, and consequently to the extreme division of lab or.
Occupations are infinitely separated and specialized, not only
inside the factories, but each product is itself a specialty
dependent upon others'^ Adam Smith and John Stuart Mill
still hoped that agriculture, at least, would be an exception to
the rule, and they saw it as the last resort of small-scale industry.
Although one must be cardfiilbfiot to generalize unduly in such
matters, nevertheless it^|itod%> deny today that the principal
branches of the agriculw^ industry are steadily being drawn
into the general movemehi* Fina,lly,^ business itself is ingen-
iously following and i^ecljng ip^a.!! its shadings the infinite
diversity of industrial tmierprises; and, while this evolution
is realizing itself with unpremeditated spontaneity, tjie econ-
omist examining its causes and appreciating its results, far
from condemning or opposing it, npholH it ita neneiWfl.rY. They
^ in it the supreme law of human societies and the condition
of their progress,.

* Aristotle, Nichamachean Ethics, E, 1133a, 16.

* Journal des Eeonomistes, November 1884, p. 211.

39

DIVISION (W LABOil IN SOCIETY

But the division of wlor is not peculiar to the economic
world^^j^je can observ€,it».growing influence in the most varied
fields of society. The political, administrative, and judicial
functions; are growing more and more specialized!) It is the same
with the aesthetic and scientific functions. It is long since
philosophy reigned as the science unique; it has been broken
into a multitude of special disciplines each of which has its
object, method, and thought. “ Men working in the sciences
have become incre asingly more specialized.” ®

Before revealing the nature of the studies with which the
most illustrious scholars have concerned themselves for two

centuries, de Candolle observed that at the time of Leibnitz and
Newton, it would have been necessary to write “almost always,
two or three titles for each scholar; for instance, astronomer
and physician, or mathematician, astronomer, and physician, or.
else to employ only general terms like philosopher or naturalist.
Even that would not be enough. The mathematicians and
naturalists were sometimes literary men or' poets. Even at
the end of the eighteenth century, these multiple titles would
have been necessary to indicate exactly what such men as
Wolff, Haller, Charles Bonnet had done in several categories
of the arts and sciences. In the nineteenth century, this
difficulty no longer exists, or at least % very rare.” * Not only
has the scholar ceased to take*^' d^Knt sciences simultane*
ously, but he does not even cover gfl^agle science completely
any more. The ambit of his rese£yf|||?6 is restricted to a de-
termined order of problems or even,^ a single problem. At
the same time, the scientific functi^' formerly always allied
with something more lucraitive, like^^at of physician, priest,
magistrate, soldier, has became more jpnd more sufficient unto
itself. De Candolle even foresees a day when the professions
of scholar and teacher, still so intimately united, will finally
separate.

The recent speculation in the philosophy of biology has

* De Candolle, Hiaioire des Sciences et dee Savants, 2nd ed., p. 263.

* Loc. cit.

INTRODUCTION 41

ended by making us see in the divisi^j^ labor a fact of a very
general nature, which the economiste^ #ho first proposed it,
never suspecXed. It is general knowledge since the works of
Wolff, Von Baer, and Milne-Edwards, that the law of the
division of labor applies to organisms as to societies; it c?f.n
even be said that the more specialized the functions of the
organism, the greater its development, j This discovery has had
the effect of immeasurably extending the scope of the division
of labor, placing its origins in an infinitely distant past, since
it becomes almost contemporaneous with the coming of life
into the world. It is no longer c onsidered only a social institu *
ti^ that h asjl^^i^c^jn^ and wil l of men , but

is a phenomenon of general biology whose conditions must be
sought in the essential properties of organized matter. The
division of labor in society appears to be no more than a par-^
tioular form of this general process ; and societies, in conform-
ing to that law, seem to be yielding to a movement that was
born before them, and that similarly governs the entire world.

Such a fact evidently cannot be produced' without profoundly
affecting our moral constitution ; for the development of man
will be conceived in two entirely different ways, depending on
whether we yield to the movement or resist it. At this point,
an urgent question arise?.; Of these two directions, which ~nust
we choose? Is it our d^Jjr to<§jeek to become a thorough and
complete human being, quite sufficient unto oneself ; or,
on the contrary, to be oi^ a part of a whole, the organ of an
organism ? Briefly, is ttie divisi a of labor, at the same time]
that it is a law of nature^lso a moral rule of human conduct vl
and, if it has this latter ^haraf^'-er, why and in what degree
It is not necessary to show the gr' ty of this practical problem ;
for, whatever opinion one has ab^>nt the division of labor, every-
one knows that it exists, and is more and more becoming one
of the fundamental bases of the social order.*

* Translator’s Note : In the first edition, there follows at this point many
additional pages of critical material, omitted in the later editions. This appears
as an appendix to the translation.

42

DIVISION OF 14B0R IN SOCIETY

The moral conscience of nations is often posed with this
problem, but confusedly, and does not succeed iii solving any-
thing. Two contradictory tendencies are pre^nt, and neither
is able to assume a completely uncontested preponderance over
the other.

'^f course, it seerhs that opinion is steadily inclining towards
malgu^the division of labor an imperative rule of conduct, to
peewit it as a dutyj Those who shun it are not punished by a
penalty fixed by law, it is true ; but they are blamed.
T^timej^ passed when the perfect man was he who appeared
intereswM^ everything without attaching himself exclusively
to ansrthing, capable of tasting and understanding everything,
finding means to unite and condense in him^lf all that was
most exquisite in civilization. This general culture, formerly
lavishly praised, now appears to us as a loose and flabby dis-
cipline.® To fight against nature we need more vigorous
faculties and more productive strength. We want activity,
instead of spreading itself over a brge area, to concentrate and
gain in intensity what it loses in extent. We distrust those
excessively mobile t alent s that lend themselves equally to all
uses, refusing to choose a special role and keep to it. We
disapprove of those men whose unique care is to organize and
develop all their faculties, but without making any definite use
of them, and without sacrificing my of them, as if each man were
gufficient unto himself, and S'D independent world.

^It seems to us that this state of detAjOilunent and indetermination
lias something anti-social about it^.'^he praiseworthy man of
former times is only a dilettante to up, and we refuse to give
dilettantism any moral value ; we rather see perfection in the
man seeking, not to be complete, but to produce ; who has a
restricted task, and devotes himself to it ; who does his duty,
accomplishes his work. “To perfect oneself,” said Secr^tan,
“is to learn one’s role, to become capable of fulfilling one’s

® This passage has sometimes been interpreted as implying an absolute con-
demnation of all kinds of general culture. However, as is evident in the context,
we are speaking only of the humanistic culture, truly a general culture, but no^
the only one possible.

UNTKUJTWriON

43

function. . . The measure of our perfec^on is no longer found
in our complacence with ourselves, in the’ applause of a crowd,
or in the approving smile of an affected dilfettantism, but in the
sum of given services and in our capa city'' to give m ore.” * A»
unified, simple, and impersonal as the moral idea was, it growa
more and more so while diversifying itself. We no longeflr
think that the exclusive duty of man is to realize in himself^tjhd
qualities of man in general ; but we believe he must have«i^
pertaining to his function. The following fact, amopg o^p^,
substantiates this opinion. ■ Education is growin^^^^^ - and
more specialized. We deem it more and more necessary not to
submit children to a uniform cu ltur e, as if they were all to lead
the same life ; but to train them differently in the light of the
different functions they will be called upon to fill. Briefly, in
one of its aspects, the categorical imperative of the moral con-
science is assuming the following form : Make yourself usefully
fulfill a determinate function.

But in the face of these facts, others can be cited contradict-
ing them. If public opinion sanctions the division of labor, it
is not without a sort of uneasiness and hesitation. While com-
manding men to specialize, it seems to fear they will specialize
too much. Besides the maxims praising intensive work, there
are others, no less prevalent, which call attention to its dangers.
“It is a sad commentary,” s^ . Jean-Baptiste Say, “that we
have come to the state where we iJever do anything more than
make the eighteenth part bf’& pin; nor is it only the workman
who lowers his natural dignity by wielding a file and hammer
through his life ; the same may be said of the man whose pro-
fessional duties call into play the finest faculties of the mind.” ^
Lemontey,* at the beginning of the nineteenth century, com-
paring the life of the modern workman to the free, bold life of
the savage, found the second much more favorable than the
first. Tocqueville is no less severe : “In so far as the principle

• Le Principe de la morale, p. 189.

’ Train d’iconomie polUique, Book I, ch. viii.

• Raison ou Polie, chapter on the influence of the division ^ | [ labor.

44 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

'of the division of labor receives a more complete application,
the art progresses, the artisan retrogresses.” • Generally, the
maxim ordering us to specialize is refuted by the contradictory
maxim commanding us all to realize the same ideal, and the
latter is still far from having lost all its authority. Doubtless,
in principle, this conflict ought to occasion no surprise. The
moral life, as that of body and mind, answers different and even
contradi<?,tory needs ; it is thus natural that it be made up, in
part, <|fBntagonistic elements limiting and balancing each other.
It is no less true that in such antagonism there is something
to trouble the moral conscience of nations, for an explanation
of such a contradiction must be given.

To put an end to this indecision, we shall not resort to the
ordinary method of moralists, who, when they wish to decide
the moral value of any precept, begin by putting forward a
general formula of morality in order thus to confront the maxim
in question with it. We know today what these summary gen-
eralizations are worth.* Asked at the beginning of a study
before any observation of the f^ts, they do not propose to
look at the facts, but to express an abstract principle of an
ideal law completely established. They do not then give us a
r4sum4 of the essential characteristics that moral rules really
present in a society, or in a determined social type ; but tljey
only express the manner in w^^h the moralist represents the
moral law. Under these circdni^ances, they are somewhat
instructive, for they direct us to-ih^ moral tendencies coming
to light at the moment considered. But they have only the
interest of a fact, not of a scientific e:i(amination. There is no
authority for seeing in the personal ai^irations felt by a thinker,
no matter how real they may be, an adequate expression of the
moral reality. They manifest needs which are never anything
but partial ; they answer some particular, determined desidera-
tum that conscience, suffering from this common illusion, erects
into a last and final end. How often it happens to be of a

• La Democratie en Amerique.

* Translator’s Note ; See appendix for critical material found in first edition.

INTRODUCTION

45

morbid nature! We cannot then refer to them as objective
criteria which permit an appreciation of the morality of prac-
tices.

We must eliminate these deductions that are generally used
only to resemble an argument, and that justify, after the resolu-
tion, preconceived sentiments and personal impressions. The
one way to succeed in objectively appreciating the division of
labor is to study it first in itself, entirely speculatively, to look
for its use, and upon what it depends, and finally, to form as
adequate a notion as possible of it. That done, we shall be
in a position' to compare it with other moral phenomena, and
see w hat rela tions it has with them. If we find that it plays
a rote«^imilar to some other practice whose moral and normal
character is undisputed ; and that, if it does not fill this role in
certain cases, it is because of abnormal deviations; and that
its causes are also the determining con ditions of other mo ral
rules — then we shall be able to conclude that it must be classed
among these last. And thus, without wishing to substitute
ourselves for the moral conscience of societies, without pretend-
ing to make laws in their place, we shall be able to clarify the
problem, and lessen its perplexities.

Our work, then, will be divided into three principal parts :
determine the function of the division of labor, that is to
say, what social need it satisfies,

'^o determine, then, the causes and conditions on which it is
dependent.

^/Finally, as it would not have been the object of such grave
accusations if it had not really deviated fairly often from the
normal condition, we shall try to classify the principal abnormal
forms it presents, so that they will not be confused with the
others. Moreover, this study will be of interest, for, here, as in
biology, patholpgy will help us more fully to understand
physiology :■ ,■ •

Moreover, if there has been so much talk about the moral
value of the division of labor, it is not so much because it is
not in agreement with a general formula of morality, as it is

46

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

because facts have been neglected which we are going to meet.
It has always been assumed that they were evident, as if, in
t order to know the nature, role, and causes of the division of
[labor, it would be sufficient to analyze the notion each of us has
\about them. Such a method does not permit of scientific con-
clusions; that is why the theory of the division of labor has
made such little progress since Adam Smith. ^^His followers,’^
said Schmoller, “had a dearth of worthy ideas, were obstinately
attached to his examples and his remarks up to the day when
the socialists enlarged the field of their observations and con-
trasted the division of labor in actual factories with that of the
small shops of the eighteenth century. Even that way, the
theory has not been developed in a profoundly systematic
manner ; the technological considerations or the observations of
banal truth on the part of some economists could not make
the development of these ideas particularly favorable. To
know what the division of labor is objectively it is not enough
to develop the contents of the idea we have of it, but we must
treat it as an objective fact, observe, compare ; and we shall
see that the result of these observations often differs from the
one its intimate meaning suggests to us.^^ j

La Division du travail Uudiie au point de vue historique, in Revue d*econ. pol.^
1889, p. 567.

“ Since 1893, two works interested in the question here treated have come to
our attention. First, the Soziale Diffvrcnzierung of Sinimel, where it is not a
question of the division of labor specifically, but of the process of individuation
in general. Then there is the book of Bucher, Die Entstehung der Wolksxvirt-
schaft, in which several chapters are devoted to the division of economic labor.

BOOK ONE

THE FUNCTION OF THE DIVISION OF

LABOR

CHAPTER ONE

THE METHOD FOR DETERMINING THIS FUNCTION

^he word Junction is used in two quite different senses.
Sometimes it suggests a system of vital movements, without
reference to their consequences; at others it expresses the
relation existing between these movements and corresponding
needs of the organism^ Thus, we speak of the function of
digestion, of respiration, etc. ; but we also say that digestion
has as its function the incorporation into the organism of liquid or
solid substances designed to replenish its losses, that respiration
has for its function the introduction of necessary gases into the
tissues of an animal for the sustainment of life, etc. It is in
the second sense that we shall use the term. i(To ask what the
function of the division of labor is, is to seek for the need which
it supplie^ When we have answered this question, we shall be
able to see if this need is of the same sort as those to which otheij
rules of conduct respond whose moral character is agreed upon^
We have chosen this term because any other would be inexact
or equivocal. vWe cannot employ aim or object and speak. of the
end of the division of labor because that would presuppose that
the division of labor exists in the light of results which we are go-
ing to determine. The terms, ‘‘results^' or ‘‘effects,” would be
no more satisfactory, because they imply no idea of correspond-
ence, On the other hand, the term “role,” or “function,” has
the great advantage of implying this idea, \ without prejudging
the question as to how this correspondence is established,
whether it results from an intentional and preconceived adapta-
tion or an aftermath adjustment.. What is important for our
purposes is to establish its existence and the ni its

existence ; not to inquire wh'e^^ tias been a prior pre-

49

60

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

sentiment of it, nor even if it has been sensibly felt after-
wards.

I

Nothing seems easier to determine, at first glance, than the
role of the division of labor. Are not its effects universally
recognized ? / Since it combines both the productive power and
the ability ot the workman, it is the necessary condition of
development in societies, both intellectual and material develop-
ment. It is the source of civilization.^Besides, since we quite
facilely assign an absolute value to civilization, we do not be-
think ourselves to seek any other function for the division,.of
labor. V

Though it may truly have this effect, there would be in that
nothing to amplify through discussion. (^But if it had no other,
and did not serve any other purpose, there would be no reason
to assign it a moral character^

In short, the services that it renders are very near to being
(foreign to the moral life, or at least have only indirect and remo.te
^relation to it. Although it may be common enough today to
reply to the polemic of Rousseau with dithyrambs of opposite
meaning, nevertheless there is no proof at all that civi l^g.tinTi is
iiA-SlSISyirfsWiW To meet the problem, we cannot refer to con-
cepts which are necessarily subjective; rather it would be

necessary to employ a standard by which to measure the level

of average morality, and to observe, thus, how it varies in pro-
porti on to the progress of civilization. *Tfnlofturiately,” this
st^dard of measurement is not forthcoming, but we do possess
one for collective immorality. lj[he average number of suicides,
of crimes of all sorts, can effectively serve to mark the intensity
of immorality in a given society. If we make this experiment,
it does not turn out creditably for civilization, for the number of i
these morbid phenomena seems to increase as the arts, sciences,
and industry progress.* Doubtless, there would be some in-
advertence in concluding from this fact that civilization is

• Alexander von Oettingen. MorahUUittik, §§ 37 ff. ; Tarde, CrimiwUiU com-
pariet oh. ii. (Fop suicides, see infra. Book II, ch. 1, § 2.)

method for determining this function 51

immoral, but one can at least be certain that, if it has a positive
and favorable influence on the moral life, it is quite weak.

^But, ff we analyze this badly defined complex called civiliza-
tion, we find that the elements of which it is composed are bereft
of any moral character whateve^

^t is particularly true of the economic activity which always
accompanies civilization. Far from serving moral progress, it
is in the great industrial centres that crimes and suicides are
most numerous.^ In any event, it evidently does not present
the external indices by which we recognize morf^ facts. We
have replaced stage coaches by railroads, sailboatg by transat-
lantic liners, small shops by manufacturing plants. All this
changed activity is generally considered useful, but it contains
nothing morally binding. The artisan and the private entre-
preneur wKorlfesisf this general current and obstinately pursue
their modest enterprises do their duty quite as well as the great
manufacturer who covers a country with machines and places a
whole army of workers under his command. The moral con-
science of nations is in this respect correct ; it prefers a little
justice to all the industrial perfection in the world. v No doubt *
industrial activities havi^a reason for existing. They respond
to needs, but these needs are not moral. ^

The case is even stronger with art, which is absolutely re-
fractory to all that resembles an obligation, for it is the domain
of liberty. It is a luxury and an acquirement which it is per-
hapsjpv^^ tCL^iQssess,^- buL .wbifilLi.s_.iiijQldi^oty .wJb^Js
superfluous does not impose itself. On the other han^^oo^-
ity is the least indispensable, the strictly pecessaiy, theTSSIy

i niiim n y n iiii*n i W wa wW i im

bread without which societies cannot exists Art responds to our '
need of pursuing an activity without end, for the pleasure of the
pursuit, whereai^morali^ compels us to follow a determinate
path to a definite end.^Whatever is obligatory is at the same'
time constraining. Thus, although art may be animated by

moral id eas or find itself involved in the eyolution qf phe nome na
whTcIv^perly sp^kmgTare moral, it is not in itself moral. It
might even be contended i£&at in the case of individuals, as in

52

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

societies, an intemperant development of the aesthetic faculties
is a serious sign from a moral point of view.

' Qf _all the elements of civUization, science is the o nly on e
which, under certain conditions, presents a moral character.
That is, societies are tending more and more to look upon it as a
duty for the individual to develop his intelligence by learning
the scientific truths which have been established.- At present,
there are a certain number of propositions which we must all
understand. We are not forced to inject ourselves into the
industrial m|lee ; we do not have to be artists, b^ut e v ery on e is
n ow fo rced not to be ignorant. This obligation is, indeed, so
strongly intrenched that, in certain societies, it is sanctioned not
only by public opinion, but also by law. It is, moreover, not
difficult to understand whence comes this special status ac-
corded to science. [Science is nothing else than conscience
carried to its highest pfiint of clarity J Thus, in order for society
to live under existent conditions, the field of conscience, indi-
vidual as well as social, must be extended and clarified. That
is, as the environments in which they exist become more and
more complex, and, consequently, more and more changeable,
to endure, they mu^j^nge often, On the other hand, the
more obscure coiiScience is, the more refractory to change it is,
because it does not perceive quickly enough the necessity for
changing nor in what sense it must change. On the contrary,
an enlightened conscience prepares itself in advance for adap-
tation. "That is why intelligence guided by science must take
a larger part in the course of collective life.

' But the science which everybody is thus required to possess
does not merit the name at all. It is not science ; it is at most
the common part and the most general. It is reduced, really,
to a small number of indispensable propositions which are
necessary for all to have only because they are within reach of
everybody. Science, properly considered, is far above this com-
mon modicum. It does not encompass only what it is shameful
not to know, but everything that it is possible to know. It does
not ask of those who cultivate it only ordinary faculties that

METHOD FOR DETERMINING THIS FUNCTION 53

every man possesses, but special qualifications. Accordingly,
being available only to an elite, it is not obligatory ; it is a use-
ful and a good thing, but it is not imperatively necessary for
society to avail itself of it. is advantageous to have ; there
i^ nothing immoral in not having acquired it^ It is a field of
action which is open to the initiative of all, but where none is
forced to enter. We do not have to be scholars any more than
we have to be artists. vScience is, then, as art and industry, out-
side the moral sphere.^

•'So many controversies have taken place concerning the
moral character of civilization because very often moralists have
nd objective criterion to distinguish moral facts from those not
jnojal. We fall into the habit of qualifying as moral everything/
that has a certain nobility and some value, everything that is an!
object of elevated aspirations, and it is because of this over-
extension of the term that we have considered civilization as
moral. But the domain of ethics is not so nebulous ; it consists
of all the rules of action which are imperatively imposed upon
conduct, to which a sanction is attached, but no more. Con-
sequently, since there is nothing in civilization which presents
this moral criterion, civilization is mwally indifferent. '•' If, then,
the division of labor had no other role than to render civilization
p^sible, it would participate in the same moral neutrality.

J It is because they have not seen any further function of the
division of labor that the theories that have been proposed are
inconsistent on this point. In short, though there exist a zonfe^
neutral to morals, the division of labor cannot be part of it^-
If it is not good, it is bad ; if it is not moral, it is immoral. If,
then, it has no other use, one falls into unresolvable antinomies,
for the greater economies that it offers are offset by moral in-
conveniences, and since it is impossible to separate these two
heterogeneous and incomparable quantities, we could not decide
which prevailed over the other, nor, consequently, take a posi-

* “ The essential character of good compared with true is that of being obli-
gatory. Truth, taken by itself, does not have this character.” Janet, M(yralei
p. 139.

• For it is in opposition to a moral rule. See p. 43.

54

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

tion on the matter. We would invoke the j)rimacy of morality
as a sweeping condemnation of the division of labor. However,
this ultima ratio is arrived at through a scientific coup (Titat,
and the evident necessity for specialization makes such a posi-
tion untenable.

/'/Moreover, if the division of labor does not fill any other role,
not only does it not have a moral character, but it is difficult to
see what reason for existence it can have. We shall see that,'
taken by itself, civilization has no intrinsic and absolute value ;
what makes it valuable is its correspondence to certain needs.
But thQ proposition will be demonstrated later * that the^
needs are themselves results of the division of labor. Because
the latter does not go forward without a demand for greater
expenditure of energy, man is led to seek, as compensation,
certain goods from civilization which, otherwise, would not
interest him in the least. If, however, the division of labor
replied to no other needs than these, it would have no other
function than to diminish the effects which it produces itself,
or to heal the wounds which it inflicts/ Under these conditions,
we would have to endixre it, but there would be no reason for
desiring it since the services it would render would reduce its
function to replenishing the losses that it caused.

All this leads us to seek some other function for the division
of labor. Certain current facts put tis on the road to a solution.

y “

Everybody knows that we like those who resemble us, those
' who think and feel as we do. But the opposite is no less true.
It very often happens that we feel kindly towards those who do
not resemble us, precisely because of this lack of resemblance.
These facts are apparently so contradictory that moralists have
always vacillated concerning the true nature of friendship and
have derived it sometimes from the former, sometimes from the
latter. The Greeks had long ago posed this problem. “Friend-
ship,” says Aristotle, “causes much discussion. According to

< Book II, chs. i and v.

METHOD FOR DETERMINING THIS FUNCTION 55

some people, it consists in a certain resemblance, and we like
those who resemble us : whence the proverbs ‘birds of a feather
flock together’ and ‘like seeks like,’ and other such phrases.
Others, on the contrary, say that all who are alike are opposed
to one another. Again, some men push their inquiries on these
points higher and reason from a consideration of nature. So
Euripides says.

The earth by drought consumed doth love the rain,

And the great heaven overcharged with rain,

Doth love to fall in showers upon the earth.

Heraclitus, again, maintains that ‘ contrariety is expedient, and
that the best agreement arises from things differing, and that all
things come into being in the way of the principle of antago-
nism.’ ’■’ ®

These opposing doctrines prove that both types are necessary
to natural friendship^ Diffe rence, as likeness, can be a cause of
mutual attraction. ''However, certain differences do not pro-
duce this effect. We do not find any pleasure in those com-
pletely different from us. Spendthrifts do not seek the company
of misers, nor moral and honest people that of hypocrites and
pretenders ; sweet and gentle spirits have no taste for sour and
malevolent temperaments. QOnly certain kinds of differences
attract each other. They are those which, instead of opposing
and excluding, complement each otherN As Bain says, there is
a type of difference which repels, anonier which attracts, one
which leads to rivalry, another which leads to friendship. If
one of two people has what the other has not, but desires, in that
fact lies the point of departure for a positive attraction.® Thus
it is that a theorist, a subtle and reasoning individual, often has
a very special sympathy for practical men, with their quick
sense and rapid intuitions ; the timid for the firm and resolute,
the weak for the strong, and conversely. As richly endowed as
we may be, we always lack something, and the best of us realize
our own insufficiency. That is why we seek in our friends the

* Nichomachean Ethics, VIII, 1, 1155a, 32.

* The Emotions and the Will.

56

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

qualities that we lack, since in joining with them, we participate
in some measure in their nature and thus feel less incomplete.
So it is that small friendly associations are formed wherein each
one plays a role conformable to his character, where there is a
true exchange of services. One urges on, another consoles ; this
one advises, that one follows the advice, and it is this apportion- ^
ment of functions or, to use the usual expression, this division of ^
labor, which determines the relations of friendship.

We are thus led to consider the division of labor in a new
light. In this instance, the economic services that it can render
are picayune compared to the moral effect that it produces, and
its tme function is to create in two or more persons a feeling of
solidarity. In whatever manner the result is obtained, its aim
is to cause coherence among friends and to stamp them with its
seal^

The history of conjugal society offers us an even more striking
example of the same phenomenon.

Without doubt, sexual attraction does not come about except
between individuals of the same type, and love generally asks a
certain harmony of thought and sentiment. It is not less true
that what gives to this relationship its peculiar character, and
what causes its particular energy, is not the resemblance, but the
difference in the natures which it unites. Precisely because man
and woman are different, they seek each other passionately.
However, as in the preceding instance, ^it is not a contrast pure
and simple which brings about reciprocal feelings. Only those
differences which require each other for their mutual fruition can
have this quality.^ In short, man and woman isolated from each
other are only different parts of the same concrete universal
which they reform when they unite. In other words, the sexual
division of labor is the source of conjugal solidarity, and that is
why psychologists have very justly seen in the separation of the
sexes an event of tremendous importance in the evolution of
emotions. It has made possible perhaps the strongest of all
unselfish inclinations.

METHOD FOR DETERMINING THIS FUNCTION 57

Moreover, there may be greater or less division of labor ; it
can either affect only sexual organs and some secondary ac-
tivities, or else also extend to all organic and social functions;
Thus, we can see in history that it has developed concomitant
with conjugal solidarity.

.Ji^he further we look into the past, the smaller becomes this
difference between man and woman. The woman of past days
was not at all the weak creature that she has become with the
progress of morality. Prehistoric bones show that the differ-
ence between the strength of man and of woman was relatively
much smaller than it is today. ^ Even now, during infancy and
until puberty, the development of the two sexes does not differ
in any appreciable way ; the characteristics are quite femi-
nine. If one admits that the development of the individual
reproduces in its course that of t he species, one may conjecture
that the same homogeneity was found at the beginning of human
evolution, and see in the female form the aboriginal image of
what was the one and only type from which the masculine
variety slowly detached itself. Travelers report, moreover,
that in certain tribes of South America, man and woman, in
structure and general appearance, present a similarity which is
far greater than is seen elsewhere.® Finally, Di*. I^ebon has
been able to establish directly and with mathematical precision
this original resemblance of the two sexes in regard to the pre-
eminent organ of physical and psychic life, the brain. By com-
paring a large number of crania chosen from different races and
different societies, he has come to the following conclusion :
“The volume of the crania of man and woman, even when we
compare subjects of equal age, of equal height and equal weight,
show considerable differences in favor of the man, and this in-
equality grows proportionally with civilization, so that from the
point of view of the mass of the brain, and correspondingly of
intelligence, woman tends more and more to be differentiated

^ Topinard, Anthropologie, p. 146.

• See Spencer, Scientific Essays, p, 300. Waitz, in hia Anihropologie der Na^
turvoelker, I, p. 76, relates many facts of the same sort.

58

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

from the male sex. The difference which exists, for example,
between the average cranium of Parisian men of the present day
and that of Parisian women is almost double that (A)served
between male and female of ancient Egypt.” ® A German an-
thropologist, Bischoff, has arrived at the same result on this
point.*®

y These anatomical resemblances are accompanied by func-
tional resemblances. In" the* same societies, femalefunctions
t&re not very clearly distinguished from male. Rather, the two
sexes lead almost the same existence. There is even now a very
great number of savage people where the woman mingles in
political life. , That has been observed especially in the Indian
tribes of America, such as the Iroquois, the Natchez ; ** in
Hawaii she participates in myriad ways in the men’s lives,** as
she does in New Zealand and in Samoa. Moreover, we very
often observe women accompanying men to war, urging them on
to battle and even taking a very active part. In Cuba, in
Dahomey, they are as war-like as the men and battle at
their side.*® One of the distinctive contemporary qualities of
woman, gentility, does not appear to pertain to her in primitive
society. In certain animal species, indeed, the female prides
herself on the contrary characteristic.

Thus, among the same peoples, marriage is in a completely
rudimentary state. It is quite probable, if not absolutely dem-
onstrated, that there was an epoch in the history of the family
when there was no such thing as marriage. Sexual relations
"Were entered into and broken at will without any juridical
obligations linking the union. In any case, we see a family
type which is relatively near ours where marriage is still only
in a very indistinct, germinal state. This is the matriarchal
family.*^ The relations of the mother to her children are very

• V Homme et lea sodeUs, II, p. 154,

Daa Gehirngewicht des Menschen, eine Studie, Bonn, 1880.

'' Waitz, Anthropologie, III, pp. 101-102.

** Waitz*. op. cit., VI, p. 121.

** Spencer, Principles of Sociology, III, p. 391.

The matriarchal family certainly existed among the Germans. — See Dar-
guH, Mutterrecht und Raubehe in Oermanischen Rechte, Breslau, 1883.

METHOD FOR DETERMINING THIS FUNCTION 69

definite, but those of the two married people are very loose.
The relation can be terminated at the will of the parties in-
volved, or they can even contract to sustain the relation for a
limited time.*® Conjugal fidelity is not even required. Mar-
riage, or what is so called, consists solely in obligations of
restricted scope and often of short duration, which link the
husband to the parents of the woman. It is thus reduced to a
small thing. Thus, in a given society, the totality of juridical
rules which constitute marriage only symbolize the state of con-
jugal solidarity. If this is very strong, the ties which bind the
married people are numerous and complex, and, consequently,
the matrimonial set of rules whose object is to define these ties
is itself very highly developed. If, on the contrary, conjugal
society lacks cohesion, if the relations between man and woman
are unstable and intermittent, they cannot take a very determi-
nate form, and, consequently, marriage is reduced to a small
number of rules without rigor or precision. The state of mar-
riage in societies where the two sexes , are only wealdy differ-
entiated thus evinces conjugal solidarity which is itself very
weak.

On the contrary^ -as we advance to modem times, we see
marriage developing. The circle of ties which it creates extends
further and further ; the obligations that it sanctions multiply.
The conditions under which it can be contracted, those under
which it can be dissolved, are limited with a precision growing
as the effects of such dissolution grow. The duty of fidelity
gains order ; first imposed on the woman only, it later becomes
reciprocal. When the dowry appears, very complex rules fix the
respective rights of each person according to his or her appro-
priate fortune and that of the other. It suffices to take a bird’s-
eye view of our Codes to see what an important place marriage
occupies. The union of two people has ceased to be ephemeral ;
it is no longer an external contact, temporary and partial, but an
intimate association, lasting, often even indissoluble during the
whole lifetime of the two parties.

*• See especially, Smith, Kinship and Marriage in Early Arabia, p. 67.

60

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

'/it is certain that at the same time sexuaL Jabor is .more
more divided. Limited first only to sexual functions, it slowly
becomes extended to others. Long ago, woman retired from
warfare and public affairs, and consecrated her entire life to her
family.' Since then, her rol e has become even more specialized.
Today, among cultivated people, the woman leads a completely
different existence from that of the man. One might say that
the two great functions of the psychic life are thus dissociated,
that one of the sexes takes care of the affective functions and the
other of intellectual functions. In view of the fact that in cer-
tain classes women participate in artistic and literary life just as
men, we might be led to believe, to be sure, that the occupations
of the two sexes are becoming homogeneous. But, even in this
sphere of action, woman carries out her own nature, and her
role is very specialized, very different from that of man. Fur-
ther, if art and letters begin to become feminine tasks, the other
sex seems to permit it in order to give itself more specially to the
pursuit of science. It might, then, be very well contended that
this apparent return to primitive homogeneity is nothing else
than the beginning of a new differentiation. Moreover, the i
functional differences are rendered materially visible by the
morphological differences that they have determined. Not only
are the height, weight, and the general form very dissimilar in
men and women, but Dr. Lebon has shown, as we have seen,
that with the progress of civilization the brain of the two sexes
differentiates itself more and more. According to this observer,
this progressive chart would be due both to the considerable
development of masculine 'crania and to a stationary or even
regressive state of female crania. “Thus,” he says, “though
the average cranium of Parisian men ranks among the greatest
known crania, the average of Parisian women ranks among the
smallest observed, even below the crania of the Chinese, and
hardly above those of th0 women of New Caledonia.”

<J In all these examples^ the most remarkable effect of the di-l
vision of labor is not that it increase the output of^functions

METHOD FOR DETERMINING THIS FUNCTION 61

divided, but that it reo ders them solidary. Its role in all these
cases is not simply to embellish or ameliorate existing societies,
but to render soci eties possible which, without it, would not
exist. Permit the sexual division of labor to recede below a
certain level and conju gal society would eventually subsist in
sexual relations preeminently ephemeral. If ^h e sexes jwere not'
sepa rated at all, an entire category of social life would be absent.
It is possible that the economic utility of 1 he division of labor may
have a hand in this, but, in any case, it passes far beyond purely
economic interests, for^it consists in the establishment of a social
and moral order sui generis . Th^gh it, ind ividua ls are linked
to one another . Without it, they woul d be independept. ~Tn-
sFead of developing separately, they pool their effort;;#^' They
are solidary, but it is a solidarity which is not merely a question
of the short time in which services are exchanged, but one which
extends much further. Conjugal solidarity, for example, such
as today exists among the most cultivated people, makes its
action felt at each moment and in all the details of life. More-
over, societies created by the division of labor cannot fail to bear
its mark. Since they have this special origin, they cannot
resemble those determined by the attraction of like for like;
they must be constituted in a different fashion, rest upon other
foundations, appeal to other sentiments.

'Th e social r elations to which the division of labor gives birth
^ve often been considered only in terms of exchange, but this
misinterprets what such exchange implies and what results from
it. It suggests two beings mutually dependent because they
are e ach i ncomp lete, and translates this mutual dependence
/Outwardly. It is, then, only the superficial expression of an
internal and very deep state. Precisely because this state is
constant, it calls up a whole mechanism of images which function
with a continuity that exchange does not poss ess. T heTma^ of
the one who completes us~Be.QQmea-ingepara,ble..from ours, not
only because it isTrequently associate d with ours, but particu-
larly because it is the patnral c oinpleinent of it. It thus be-
comes an i ntegral a nd permanent par t of our conscience, to such

62 ' ' DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

a point that we can no jpnger separate ourselves from it and seek
to increase its forcey- ^hat is why we enjoy the society of the
one it represents, since the presence of the object that it ex-
presses, by making us actually perceive it, sets it off more. On
the other hand, we will suffer from all circumstances which,
like absence or death, may have as effect the barring of its
return or the diminishing of its vivacity.

As short as this analysis is, it suffices to show that this mecha-
nism is not identical with that which serves as a basis for senti-
ments of sympathy whose source is resemblance. Surely there
can be no solidarity between others and us unless the image of
others unites itself with ours. But when the union results from
the r esemblance of t wo images, .it consists in an agglutina tion.
The two representations become solidary because, being indis-
tinct, totally or in part, they confound each other, and become
no more than one, and they are solidary only in the measure
which they confound themselves. On the contrary, in the case
of the division of labor, they are outside each other and are
linked only because they are distinct. Neither the sentiments
nor the social relations which derive from these sentiments are
the same in the two cases.

' We are thus led to ask if the division of labor would not play
the same role in more extensive groups, if, in contemporary
societies where it has developed as we know, it would not have
as its function the integration of the social body to assure unity.
It is quite legitimate to suppose that the facts which we have
just observed reproduce themselves here, but with greater
amplitude, that great political societies can maintain them-'|
.selves in equilibrium only thanks to the specialization of tasks^ v
that the division of labor is the source, if not unique, at least '
principal, of sqcial TOlidarity. VComte took this point of view:'^
Of all sociologists, to our'knowledge, he is the^first.,to have
recognized in the division of labor something other than a purely
economic phenomenon. He saw in it “the most essential con-
dition of social life,” provided that one conceives it “in all its
rational extent ; that is to say, that one applies it to the totality

METHOD FOR DETERMINING THIS FUNCTION 63

of all our diverse operations of whatever kind, instead of attrib-
uting it, as is ordinarily done, to simple material usages.”
Considered in this light, he says, “it leads immediately to
regarding not only individuals and classes, .but also, in many
respects, different peoples, as at once participating, following a
definite path in a special degree, exactly determined, in a work,
immense and communal, whq^ inevitable gradual development
links actual cooperators to their predecessors and even to their
successors. It is thus the continuous repartition of different
human endeavors which especially constitutes social solidarity
and which becomes the elementary cause of the extension and
growing complication of the social organism.”

If this hypothesis were proved, the division of labor would
play a role much more important than that which we ordinarily
attribute to it. It would serve not o nly to raise .societies to
lu xury, de sirable perhaps, but superfluous; it wou ld be a con-
dition of their existence. Through it, or at least particularly
through it, their cohesion would be assured ; it would determine
the essential traits of their constitution. Accordingly, although
we may not yet be in position to resolve the question rigorously,
we can, however, imply from it now that, if such is really the]
function of the division of labor, it must have a moral character, i,
for the need of order, harmony, and social solidarity is generally ,
considere d moral..

But before seeing whether this common opinion is well
founded, we must verify the hypothesis that we have just given
forth concerning the role of the division of labor. Let us see if,
in effect, in the societies in which we live, it is from this that
social solidarity essentially derives.

Ill

But how shall we proceed to such verification?

We must not simply look to see if, in these t3rpes of society,
there exists a social solidarity which comes from the division of

Coura de philoaophie positive^ IV, p. 426. — Analogous ideas are found in
Sohaeffle, Bau und L^en dea aozuUen Koerpera, II, paaaim, and Clement, Science
SocUde, I, pp. 235 ff.

64

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

labor. That is a self-evident truism, since in such societies the
division of labor is highly developed and produces solidarity.
Rftthec we must especially determine in what degree the solidar-
ity that it produces cc.ntributes to the general integration of
society, for it is only then that we shall know how far ngcessary
jUla, whether it is an essential factor of social cohesion, or
wEelher, on the contrary, it is only an accessory and secondary
condition. To reply to this question, we must compare this
social link to others in order to measure how much credit is
due to it in the total effect ; and to that end, we must begin by
classifying the different types of social solidarity.

>4 But social solidarity is a completely moral phenomenon which,
mken by itself, does not lend itself to exact observation nor
indeed to measurement. To proceed to this classification and
this comparison, we must substitute for this internal fact which
escapes us an external index which symbolizes it and study the
former in the light of the lattery

( This visible symbol is kw. fin effect, despite its immaterial
character, wherever social solidarity exists, it resides not in a
state of pure potentiality, but manifests its presence by sensible
indices. Where it is strong, it leads men strongly to one an-
other, frequently puts them in contact, multiplies the occasions
when they find themselves related.^ To speak correctly, con-
sidering the point our investigation has reached£it is not easy
to say whether social solidarity produces these phenomena, or
whether it is a result of them, whether men relate themselves
because it is a driving force, or whether it is a driving force be-
cause they relate themselves. However, it is not, at the mo-
ment, necessary to decide this question ; it suffices to state that
the two orders of fact are linked and vary at the same time and
in the same sense. jThe more solidary the members of a society
are, the more they sustain diverse relations, one with another,
or with the group taken collectively, for, if their meetings were
rare, they would depend upon one another only at rare intervals,
and then tenuously. Moreover, the num^ier of theeo-relations
is necessarily proportioharto that of the juridical rules which

METHOD FOR DETERMINING THIS FUNCTION 65

determin e them. / Indeed, social life, especially where it exists
durably, tends inevitably to assume a definite form and to organ-
ize itself, and law is nothing else than this very organization'
in so far as it has greater stability'^'and precision. The gen-
eral life of society cannot extend its sway without juridical life
extending its sway at the same time and in direct relation. . We
can thus be certain of finding reflected in law all the essential
varieties of social soiidatily .

I I The objection may be raised, it is true, that S()cial relations
can fix themselves without assuming a juridical form.^ Some
of them do not attain this degree of consolidation and preci-
sion, but they do not remain undetermined on that account.
^Instead of being regulated by law, they arc regulated by custom/
Law, then, reflects only part of social life and furnishes us with
incomplete data for the solution of the problem. Moreover, it
often happens that custom is not in accord with law ; we usually
say that it tempers law's severity, that it corrects law's formal-
ism, sometimes, indeed, that it is animated by a different spirit.
Would it not then be true that custom manifests other sorts
of solidarity than that expressed in positive law ?

This opposition, however, crops up only in quite exceptional
circumstances. This comes about when law no longer corre-
sponds to the state of existing society, but maintains itself,
without reason for so doing, by the force of habit. In such a
case, new relations which establish themselves in spite of it are
not bereft of organization, for they cannot endure without seek-
ing consolidation. But since they are in conflict with the old
existing law, they can attain only superficial orgjinizatipn.
They do not pass beyoindthe" stage of custom arid do not enter
into the juridical life^^roperT^TTKus conflict ensues. But it
arises only in rare and pathological cases which cannot endure
without danger. Normally, custom is not opposed to law, but
is, on th^ contrary, its basis. It happens, in truth, that on such
a basis nothing may rear its head. Social relations ensue which
convey a diffuse regulation which comes from custom ; but they

See infra. Book III, ch. i.

66

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

lack importance and continuity, except in the abnormal cases
of which we were just speaking. ' If, then,''there are types of
social solidarity which custom alone manifests, they are assur-
edly secondary; law produces those which are essential and
they are the only ones we need to know/

Shall we go further and say that social solidarity^ does not
completely manifest itself perceptibly, that these manifestations
are only jartiaf and imperfect, that behind law and custom
there is an internal state whence it derives, and that in order
to know it truly we must intuit it without intermediaries?
— But we can know causes scientifically only by the effects that
they produce, and in order to determine their nature, science
chooses from these effects only the most objective and most
easily measurable. Science studies heat through the variations
in volume which changes in temperature produce in bodies,
electricity through its physico-chemical effects, force through
movement. Why should social solidarity be an exception?®
What remains of it divested of social forms? What gives it
its specific characters is the nature of the group whose unity
it assures; that is why it varies according to social types.
It is not the same in the ^ family and in political societies ;
we are not attached to our country in the same fashion as
the Roman was to his city or the German to his tribe. But
since these differences relate themselves to social causes, we
can understand them only with reference to the differences
that the social effects of solidarity present. If, then, we neglect
the latter, all the varieties become indiscernible and we can
no longer perceive what is common to all of them, that is, the
general tendency to sociability, a tendency y^ch is always
and everywhere the same and is special to no particular social
type. But ^is residue is only an abstraction, for sociability
in itself is nowhere found. What exists and really lives are the
p articular forma of sr>lidfl.ri f,y, domestic solidarity, occupational
solidarity, national solidarity, yesterday's, today’s, etc. Each
has its proper nature; consequently, these general remarks,
in every case, give only a very incomplete explanation of a

METHOD FOR DETERMINING THIS FUNCTION 67

phenomenon) since they necessarily omit the concrete and the
vital.

The study of solidar ity thus grows out of sociology. It is a \
social fact we can know only through the intermediary of
social effects. If so many moralists and psychologists have
been able to treat the question without following this pro-
cedure, it has been by circumventing the difficulty. They have
eliminated from the phenomenon all that is peculiarly social
in order to retain only the psychological germ whence it de-
veloped. It is surely true that solidarity, while being a social
fact of the first order, depends on the individual organism. In
order to exist, it must be contained in our physical and psychic
constitution. One can thus rigorously limit oneself to studying
this aspect. But, in that case, one sees only the most indis-
tinct and least special aspect. It is not even solidarity properly
speaking, but rather what makes it possible.

Moreover, this abstract study would not be very fertile in
results. For, in its dependence upon a state of simple dis-
position in our psychic nature, solidarity is much too indefinite
to be comprehended easily. It is an intangible phenomenon
which does not lend itself to observation. In order to assume
a comprehensible form, certain social consequences must trans-
late it overtly. Moreover, even in this indeterminate state,
it depends upon social conditions which explain it and from
which, consequently, it cannot be detached. That is why it is
very rare that some sociological views do not find their way into
these analyses of pure psychology. For example, we speak of
the influence of the gregarious state on the formation of social
sentiment in general^®; or perhaps indicate in short compass
the jpncipal social relations on which sociability quite appar-
ently depends.^ Without doubt, these complementary con-
siderations, introduced helter-skelter, with examples and fol-
lowing chance suggestions, will not suffice to elucidate very
much of the social nature of solidarity. They show, at least,

Bain, The Emotions and the Willf pp. 131 ff.

Spencer, Principles of Psychology^ Part VIII, ch. v.

68

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

that the sociological point of view is incumbent even upon
psychologists.

-^Our method has now been fully outlined./ Since law repro-
duces the principal forms of social solidarity, we have only to
classify the different types of law to find therefrom the different
types of social solidarity which correspond to it. It is now
probable that there is a type which symbolizes this special
solidarity of which the division of labor is the cause. That
found, it will suffice, in order to measure the part of the divi-
sion of labor, to compare the number of juridical rules which
express it with the total volume of law.

For this task, we cannot use the distinctions utilized by the
jurisconsults. Created for practical purposes, they can be
very useful from this point of view, but science cannot content
itself with these empirical classifications and approximations.
The most accepted is that which divides law into public and
private ; the first is for the regulation of the relations of the
individual to the State, the second, of individuals among them-
selves. But when we try to get closer to these terms, the line
of demarcation which appeared so neat at the beginning fades
away. All law is private in the sense that it is always about
individuals who are present and acting ; but so, too, all law is
puBlic7’m the sense that it is a social function and that all in-
dividuals are, whatever their varying titles, functionaries of
society. Marital functions, paternal, etc., are neither delimited
nor organized in a manner different from ministerial and legis-
lative functions, and it is not without reason that Roman law
entitled tutelage munus publicum. What, moreover, ifl|||^e
State ? Where does it begin and where does it end ? W^now
how controversial the question is ; it is not scientific to make a
fundamental classification repose on a notion so obscure and
so badly analyzed.

To proceed scientifically, we must find some characteristic
which, while being essential to juridical phenomena, varies as
they vary./ Every precept of law can be defined as a rule of

METHOD FOR DETERMINING THIS FUNCTION 69

sanctioned conduct. Moreover, it is evident that sanctions
change with the gravity attributed to precepts, the place they
^pld in the public conscience, the role they play in society.
It is right, then, to classify juridical rules according to the dif-
f^i'pnt sanctions which a/e attached to them. ,
y They are oHwo kinds. Some cons/st essentially in suffering,
or at least a loss, inflicted on the agent. They make demands
on his fortune, or on his honor, or on his life, or on his liberty,
and deprive him of something he enjoys. We call them re-
pressive. They constitute penal law. It is true that those
which are attached to rules which are purely moral have the
same character, only they are distributed in a diffuse manner,
by everybody indiscriminately, whereas those in penal law are
applied through the intermediary of a definite organ ; they are
organized. As for the other type, it does not necessarily imply
suffering for the agent, but consists only of the return of things as
they were, in the reestablishment of troubled relations to their
normal state, whether the incriminated act is restored by force
to the type whence it deviated, or is annulled, that is, deprived
of all social value. We must then separate juridical rules into
two great classes, accordingly as they have organized repressive
sanctions or only restitutive sanctions.* The first comprise all
penal law ; the second, civil law, commercial law, procedural law,
administrative and constitutional law, after abstraction of the
penal rules which may be found there.'

' Let us now seek for the type of social solidarity to which each
of these two types corresponds.

* Translator’s Note : In the first edition the following footnote, omitted in
the fifth (and I believe in the other editions) is found at this point : —

If this division is combined with the definition that we have given of
purelj^ moral rules [in the introduction to the first edition ; see appendix to
this translation], the following table is obtained, based on a complete classi-
fication of all obligatory rules of conduct :

Obligatory rules of conduct

Diffuse (Common morality without juridical
With repressive sanctions sanctions).

Organized (Penal Law).

With restitutive sanctions.

This table shows anew how difficult it is to separate the study of simply
moral rules from the study of juridical rules.

CHAPTER TWO

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY THROUGH
LIKENESS

I

The link of social solidarity to which repressive law corre-
sponds is the one whose break constitutes a crime. By this
name we call every act which, in any degree whatever, invokes
against its author the characteristic reaction which we term
punishment. To seek the nature of this link is to inquire into
the cause of punishment, or, more precisely, to inquire what
crime essentially consists of.

.‘Surely there are crimes of different kinds; but among all
the% kinds, there is, no less surely, a common element. The
proof of this is that the reaction which crimes call forth from
society, in respect of punishment, is, save for differences of
jdegree, always and ever the same. The unity of effect shows
Ithe unity of the cause. Not only among the types of crime
^provided for legally in the same society, but even among those
which have been or are recognized and punished in different
social systems, essential resemblances assuredly exist. As
different as they appear at first glance, they must have a com-
mon foundation, for they everywhere affect the moral conscience
of nations in the same way and produce the same ilesult. They
are all crimes ; that is to say, acts reprised by definite punish-
ments. The essential properties of a thing' are those which
one observes universally wherever that thing exists and which
pertain to it alone. If, then, we wish to know what crime ^aen-
tially is, we must extract the elenients of crimes whicbi ^ found
in aU criminological varieties in different social systems.
I^ne must be neglected. The juridical conceptions of the most

7Q

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

71

inferior societies are no less significant than those of the most
elevated societies ; they are not less instructive. To omit any
would expose us to the error of finding the essence of crime where
it is not. Thus, the biologist would have given vital phenomenaj
a very inexact definition, if he had disdained to observe mono-
cellular organisms, for, solely from the contemplation of organ-]
isms of higher type, he would have wrongly concluded that life
essentially consists in organization.

The method of finding this permanent and pervasive element
is surely not by enumerating the acts that at all times and in
every place have been termed crimes, observing, thus, the char-
acters that they present. For if, as it may be, they are actions
which have universally been regarded as criminal, they are the
smallest minority, and, consequently, such a method would give
us a very mistaken notion, since it would be applied only to
exceptions. ‘ These variations of repressive law prove at the
same time that the constant characteristic could not be found
among the intrinsic properties of acts imposed or prohibited by
penal rules, since they present such diversity, but rather in the
relations that they sustain with some condition external to them.

It has been thought that this relation is found in a sort of
antagonism between these actions and great social interests, and

' It is this method which Garafalo has followed. No doubt, he seems to
renounce it when he realizes the impossibility of drawing up a list of acts uni-
versally punished {Criminologie, p. 5), which is excessive. But he finally reverts
to it, since, in sum, natural crime is, for him, that which runs counter to the senti-
ments which are everywhere at the basis of penal law ; that is to say, the invari-
able part of the moral sense and that alone. But why would a crime which ran
counter to some particular sentiment in certain social systems be less a crime
than others? Garafalo is thus led to refuse the name of crime to those acts
which have been universally recognized as crimes in certain social systems, and
accordingly, to retrace artificially the elements of criminality. The result is
that his notion of crime is singularly incomplete. It is vacillating because its
author does not trouble himself to enter into a comparison of all social systems,
but excludes a great number that he treats as abnormal. One can say of a
social fact that it is abnormal relative to the type of the species, but a species
cannot be abnormal. The two words cannot be joined. As interesting as is
Oarafalo’s attempt to arrive at a scientific notion of a delict, it has not been made
with a method sufficiently exact and precise. This is shown by the expression
naiitral delict which he uses. Are not all delicts natural? It seems probable
that here is a return to Spencer’s doctrine, which treats social life as truly nat-
ural only in industrial societies. Unfortunately, nothing is more incorrect.

72

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

it has been said that penal rules announce the fundamental con-
ditions of collective life for each social type. Their authority
thus derives from their necessity. Moreover, as these neces-
sities vary with societies, the variability of repressive law would
thus be explained. But we have already made ourselves explicit
on this point. Besides the fact that such a theory accords too
lai^e a part in the direction of social evolution to calculation
and reflection, there are many acts which have been and still
are regarded as criminal without in themselves being harmful
to society. What social danger is there in touching a tabooed
object, an impure animal or man, in letting the sacred fire die
down, in eating certain meats, in failure to make the traditional
sacrifice over the graves of parents, in not exactly pronouncing
the ritual formula, in not celebrating certain holidays, etc.?
We know, however, what a large place in the repressive law of
many peoples ritual regimentation, etiquette, ceremonial, and
religious practices play. We have only to open the Pentateuch
to convince ourselves, and as these facts normally recur in cer-
tain social types, we cannot think of them as anomalies or
p^hologlcal cases which we can rightly neglect.

-'>^Even when a criminal act is certainly harmful to society, it
is not true that the amount of harm that it does is regularly
related to the intensity of the repression which it calls forth.
In the penal law of the most civilized people, murder is univer-
sally regarded as the greatest of crimes. However, an economic
crisis, a stock-market crash, even a failure, can disorganize the
social body more severely than an isolated homicide. No
doubt murder is always an evil, but there is no proof that it is
the greatest of evils. What is one man less to society? What
does one lost cell matter to the organism? We say that the
future general security would be menaced if the act remained un-
punished ; but if we compare the significance of the danger, real
as it is, and that of the punishment, the disproportion is striking.
Moreover, the examples we have just cited show that an act can
be dis^trous to society without Jncumng the least repression.

‘ This definition of crime is, then, completely inadequate. |

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

73

Shall we say, in modifying it, that priminal acts are those
whic h seem harmful to the society t h at represses them, t h^
pe ^l rules express, not the conditions which are essential to
social life, but those which appear such to the group which ob-
serves them? But such an explanation explains nothing, for
it does not show why, in so large a number of cases, societies
are mistaken and have imposed practices which by themselves
were not even useful.?. Surely this pretended solution of the
problem reduces itself to a veritable truism, for if societies thus
oblige each individual to obey their rules, it is evidently because
they believe, wrongly or rightly, that this regular and punctual
obedience is indispensable to them. That is why they hold to
it so doggedly. The solution then amounts to saying that
societies jud^e these rules nec^sary because they inrigp thpmn
n ecessaix What we must find out is why they consider them
^ necessary. If this sentiment had its cause in the objective
necessity of penal prescriptions, or, at least, in their utility, it
would be an explanation. But that Is contradicted by the
facts ; the question remains entirely unresolved. *,

However, this last theory is not without some foundation;
it is with reason that it seeks in certain states of the subject the
constitutive conditions of criminality. } In effect, the only com-
mon characteristic of all crimes is that they consist/ — except
some apparent exceptions with which we shall deal later -4* in"
acts universally disapproved of by members of each society^
We ask ourselves these days whether this reprobation is rational,
whether it would not be wiser to see in crime only a malady
or an error. But we need not enter upon these discuss^op a :
we seek to determin e'**Wli’gt i s oFhas been, not ,what ought
to be. Thus, the reality of the fact that we have just estab-
Iishe3 is not contestable ; ^ that is, that crime shocks sentiments
\ghic^ , for £^given social system, are f ound in all h ealthy^

|ItTs"iiM ^ssible otherwise to determine the nature of these,
sentiments, to define them in terms of the function of their par^
ticular objects, for these objects have infinitely varied and can

74

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

still vary.* ^ Today, there are altruistic sentiments which pre-
sent this character most markedly ; but there was a time, not
far distant from ours, when religious, domestic, and a thousand
other traditional sentiments had e;cactly the same effects.
Even now, net g^ve sympathy for another does no t. as ^Qarafalo
wishes, alone produce this result. Do we not have the same
aversion, in times of peace, for the man who betrays his country
as for the robber or the murderer? In a country where monar-
chical sentiment is still strong, do crimes against Use-majeste not
call forth general indignation? In democratic countries, are
injuries to the people not inveighed against? We can not
thus draw up a list of sentiments whose violation constitutes
a cnme ; they distinguish themselves from others only by this
trait, that they are common to the average mass of individuals '
Qf the same society. So the rules which prohibit these acts
and which penal law sanctions are the only ones to which the
famous juridical axiom ignorance of the law is no excuse is applied
without fiction. As thfey are graven in all consciences, every-
body knows them and feels that they are well founded. It is at
least true of the normal state. If we come upon adults who do
not know these fundamental rules or do not recognize their
authority, such ignorance or insubmissiveness is an undeniable
sign of pathological perversion.j Or, if it happens that a
penal^ disposition exists for a long time although opposed by .
all, it is because of very exceptional circumstances, conse-
quently, abnormal ; and such a state of affairs can never long

T dure.

This explains the particular manner in which penal law is
codified. Every w ritten law has a dotible objec t : t o prescribe
certain obligations , and to d efine the sanctions which are at-
tached to themj In civil law, and more generally in every type
m law with re^tutive sanctions, the legislator takes up and

* We do not see what scientific reason Garafalo has for sasdng that the moral *
sentiments actually acquired by the civilised part of humanity constitute a
morality “not susceptible of loss, but of a continually growing development”
(p. 9). What permits him thus to limit the changes that will come about in one
sense or another?

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

76

solves the two questions separately. He first determines the
obligation with all possible precision, and it is only later that
he stipulates the manner in which it should be sanctioned. j| For
example, in the chapter of the French civil code which is devoted
to the respective duties of married persons, the rights and obliga-
tions are announced in a positive manner; but no mention is
made of what happens when these duties are violated by one
or the other. We must go otherwheres to find this sanction.
Sometimes it is totally lacking. Thus, article 214 of the civil
code orders the wife to live with her husband ; we deduce from
that that the husband can force her to remain in the conjugal
.domicile, but this sanction is nowhere formally indicated.
!T enal law , on the contrary, sets forth only sanctions, but says
J^thing of the obligations to which they correspond. It does
not command respect for the life of another, but kills the assas-
sin. It does not say, first off, as does civil law: Here is the
duty; but rather. Here is the punishment. No doubt, if the
action is punished, it is because it is contrary to an obligatory
rule, but this rule is not expressly formulated. There can
be only one reason for this, which is that the rule is known and'
accepted by everybody. When a law of custom becomes written
and is codified, it is because questions of litigation demand a
more definite solution. If the custom continues to function
silently, without raising any discussion or difficulties, there is
no reason for transforming it. Since p enal la w is c odified only
to est ablish a graduated scale of punii^ments." it is th us the
s cale alone which can lend itself to doubt. Inversely, if rules
whose violation is punished do not need a juridical expression,
it is because they are ^e object of no contest, because everybody
feels their authority. '

It is true that sometimes the Pentateuch does not set forth
sanctions, though, we shall see, it contains little more than
penal dispositions. This is the case with the Ten Command-
ments as they are found formulated in chapter XX of Exodus
and chapter V of Deuteronomy. But the Pentateuch, although it

' Cf. Binding, Die Normen und ihre Ud>ertrelung, I, pp. 6 £f., Leipzig, 1872.

76

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

has the function of a code, is not, however, a code properly
speaking. Its object is not to unite in a single system and to
make precise the penal rules of the Jewish people ; it is so far
from being a codification that the various parts of which it is
composed seem not to have been formulated in the same epoch.
It is above all a rdsum4 of all sorts of traditions by which the
Jews explained to their satisfaction and in their fashion the
genesis of the world, of their society, and of their principal social
practices. If, then, it prescribes duties which assuredly were
sanctioned by punishments, they were not ignored or unknown
to the Jews, nor was it necessary to make them manifest. On
the contrary, since the book is only a tissue of national legends,
we can rest assured that everything that it contains was en-
graven in every conscience. It was essentially a problem of
reproducing and stabilizing the popular beliefs on the origins
of these precepts, on the historical circumstances in which they
were believed to have been promulgated, on the sources of their
authority. Thus, from this point of view, the determination of
punishment becomes something accessory.^
yi It is for this reason that the functioning of repressive justice
tends to remain more or less diffuse.' In very different social
systems, it does not function through the means of a special
magistracy, but the whole society participates in a rather large
measure. In primitive societies, where, as we shall see, law is
wholly penal, it is the assembly of the people which renders
justice.^ This was the case among the ancient Germans.® In
Rome, while civil affairs were given over to the praetor, criminal
matters were handled by the people, first by the curile comites,
and then, beginning with the law of the Twelve Tables, by the
centurial comites. Until the end of the republic, even though
in fact it had delegated its powers to permanent commissions,
the people remained, in principle, the supreme judge of this

♦The only true exceptions to this particularity of penal law are produced
when the act is committed by the public authority which created the delict.
In this case, the duty is generally defined independently of the sanction; we
will later consider the cause of this exception.

♦ Tacitus, Germania^ ch. xii.

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

77

type of process.® In Athens, under the legislation of Solon,
criminal jurisdiction partly rested in the ‘HAtaui, a vast assem-
blage which nominally comprised all the citizens over the age
of thirty.^ Then, among Germano-Latin peoples, society, in
the person of the jury, intervened in the exercise of these same
functions. 'The diffused state in which this part of judicial
power is thus found would be inexplicable, if the rules whose
observation it assured, and, consequently, the sentiments to
which these rules corresponded, were not immanent in all con-
sciences. It is true that, in other cases, the power is wielded by
a privileged class or by particular magistrates. But these facts
do not lessen the demonstrative value of the preceding, for, •
simply because collective sentiments are enforced only through
certain intermediaries, it does not follow that they have ceased
to be collective while localizing themselves in a restricted num-
ber of consciences. This delegation may be due either to the
very great multiplicity of affairs which necessitate the institu-
tion of special functionaries, or to the very great importance
assumed by certain persons or certain classes and which makes
tl^em the authorized interpreters of collective sentiments, i
./^But we have not defined crime when we say that it consists
in an offense to collective sentiments, fo r there arc som^ among
these which caji be. offfijjded without there being,§^crime7| ^hus,
incest is the object of quite general aversion, and yet it is an
act that is only immoral. It is in like case with the reflec-
tions upon a woman's honor accruing from promiscuous inter-
course outside of marriage, from the fact of total alienation of^
her liberty at another's hands, or of accepting such alienation
[rom another.^! The collective sentiments to which crime corre-

I iponds inust, Werefore, singularize themselves from others by
lome distinctive property; they must have a certain average
ntensity. Not only^ re they alLconscieuces, but

\>hey are strongly engraven. They are not hesitant and super-

W Alief, tiistoire de la procedure civile et du droit criminel chez lea RomainSt
tr. fr. § 829 ; Rein, Criminalrecht der Roemer, p. 63.

^ Cf. Gilbert, Handhuch der Griechischen StaatsalterthUmer, I, p. 138, Leipzig,
1881.

78

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

ficial desires, but emotions and tendencies which are strongly
ingrained in us A The proof of this is the extreme slowness with
^hich penal law evolves. Not only is it modified more slowly
than custom, but it is the part of positive law most refractory
to change. Observe, for example, what has been accomplished
in legislation since the beginning of the nineteenth century in
the different spheres of juridical life; the innovations in the
matter of penal law are extremely rare and restricted compared
to the multitude of new dispositions introduced into the civil
law, commercial law, administrative law, and constitutional
law. When we compare the penal law which the Twelve
Tables set up in Rome with that which we find there in the
classical epoch, the changes that are observable are small indeed
compared to those induced in the civil law during the same
period. From the time of the Twelve Tables, says Mainz, the
principal crimes and delicts are constituted : “During ten gen-
erations, the catalogue of public crimes had added to it only
some few laws which punished thievery, brigandage, and per-
haps the plagium” * , As for private delicts, we encounter only
two new ones : rapine (actio bonorum vi raptomm) and damage
unjustly caused (damnum injuria datum). fThe same phe-
/nomenon is universally found. In lower societies, law, as we
shall see, is almost exclusively penal ; it is likewise very station-
a^. Generally, religious law is always repressive ; it is essen-
tially conservative. / This fixity of penal law evinces the resistive
force of the collective sentiments to which it corresponds. In-
versely, the very great plasticity of pure ly moral rules and the
relative rapidity of their evoIution- show tEe small er ^ce of tl^ e
sentiments at their b ase ; either they have been more recently
acquired and “have not yet had time to penetrate deeply into
consciences, or they are in process of losing strength and mov-
ing from depth to surface. I

I One last addition is still necessary in order to make our
ofefinition exact. If, in general, the sentiments which purely

* Esquiase historique du droit criminel de Vancienne Rome, in NouveUe Revue
hUtorique du droit frangais et Stranger, 1882, pp. 24 and 27.

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

79

moral sanctions protect, that is to say, diffuse sanctions, are
less intense and less solidly organized than those which punish-
ment, properly called, protects, nevertheless there are excep-
tions. Thus, there is no reason for believing that]the average
filial piety or even the elementary forms of compassion for the
most apparentfevils today consist of sentiments more superficial
than those concerning property or public authority.^ The way-
ward son, however, and ^en the most hardened egotist are
not treated as criminals, if It is not sufficient, then, that the
sentiments be strong; they must be precise. In effect, each
of them is relative to a very definite practice. This practice
can be simple or complex, positive or negative, that is to say,
consist in action or abstention, but it is always determined. It
is a question of doing or not doing this or that, of not killing,
not wounding, of pronouncing such a formula, of going through
such a rite, etc. On the contrary, sentiments such as filial love
or charity are vague aspirations towards very general objects.
So penal laws are remarkable for their neatness and precision,]
while purely moral rules are generally somewhat nebulous.]
Their inchoate nature very often even makes it difficult to
render them in a short formula. We may quite generally say-
that a man ought to work, that he ought to have pity on others,
etc., but we cannot determine in what fashion or in what meas-
ure. Th^e is room here, consequently, for variations and
miances. / On the other hand, since the sentiments which are
incarnate in penal rules are determined, they have a much
greater uniformity. As they cannot be understood in different
ways, they are ever the same, j

f ^

[ We are now in a position to come to a conclusion.

The totality of beUefs and sentiments common to average-
citizens of the same society forms a determinate system which
h as its own life ; one may call it the collective or common con-
scf^e. No doubt, it has not a specific organ as a substratum ;
it is, by definition, diffuse in every reach of society. Neverthe-
less, it has specific characteristics which make it a distinct

80

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

reality. It is, in effect, independent of the particular conditions
in which individuals are placed ; they pass on and it remains.
It is the same in the North and in the South, in great cities
and in small, in different professions. Moreover, it does not
change with each generation, but, on the contrary, it connects
successive generations with one another. It is, thus, an
entirely different thing from particular consciences, although
it can be realized only through them. It is the psychical type
of society, a type which has its properties, its conditions of
existence, its mode of development, just as individual types,
although in a different way. T^s understood, it has the right
to be denoted by a special wordj The one which we have just
employed is not, it is true, withdut ambiguity. As the, terms,
collective and social, are often considered synonymous, one is
inclined to believf that the collective conscience is the total
social conscience,^' that is, extend it to include more than the
psychic life of society, although, particularly in advanced
societies, it is only a very restricted part. Judicial, govern-
mental, scientific, industrial, in short, all special functions are
of a psychic nature, since they consist in systems of representa-
tions and actions. They, however, are surely outside the
common conscience. To avoid the confusion ® into which some
have fallen, the best way would be to create a technical expres-
sion especially to designate the totality of social similitudes.
However, since the use of a new word, when not absolutely
necessary, is not without inconvenience, we shall employ the
well-worn expression/ collective or common conscience, but we

t all always mean the strict sense in which we have taken it.

We can, then, to resume^ the preceding analysis, say that an
fSUSt is criml^l when it -offends strohg and defined states of the
collective conscience.'*! *

* The confusion is not \mthout its dangers. Thus, we sometimes ask if the
individual conscience varies as the collective conscience. It all depends upon
the sense in which the word is taken. If it represents social likenesses, the varia-
tion is inverse, as we shall see. If it signifies the total psychic life of society, the
relation is direct. It is thus necessary to distinguish them.

We shall not consider the question whether the collective conscience is a
conscience as is that of the individual. By this term, we simply signify the

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

81

The statement of this proposition is not generally called
into question, but it is ordinarily given a sense very different
from that which it ought to convey. We take it as if it ex-
pressed, not the essential property of crime, but one of its
repercussions. We well know that/crime violates very per-
vasive and intense sentiments, but we believe that this per-
vasiveness and this intensity derive from the criminal character
of the act, which consequently remains to be defined/ We do
not deny that every delict is universally reproved, but we take
as agreed that the reprobation to which it is subjected results
from its delictness. But we are hard put to say what this
delictness consists of. In immorality which is particularly
serious? I wish such were the case, but that is to reply to the
question by putting one word in place of another, ^r it is
precisely the problem to understand what this immorality is, and
especially this particular immorality which society reproves by
means of organized punishment and which constitutes criminal- J
ity. It can evidently come only from one or ^veral charac-
teristics common to all criminological types. 'The only one
which would satisfy this condition is that opposition between
a crime, whatever it is, and certain collective sentiments. It
is, accordingly, this opposition which makes crime rather than
being a derivative of crime. In other words, we must not say
that an action shocks the common conscience because it is
criminal, but rather that it is criminal because it shocks the]
common conscience. We do not reprove it because it is a(
crime, but it is a crime because we reprove it) As for the
intrinsic nature of these sentiments, it is impossible to specify
them. They have the most diverse objects and cannot be en-
compassed in a single formula. I We can say that they relsklih
neither to vital interests of society nor to a minimum of jus-
tice. All these definitions are inadequate, i By this alone can
we recognize it : a sentiment, whatever its origin and end, is
found in all consciences with a certain degree of force and pre-

totality of social likenesses, without prejudging the category by which this
system of phenomena ought to be defined.

82

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

cision, and every action which violates it is a crime.i| Con*
temporal^ psychology is more and more reverting to tne idea
of Spinoza, according to which things are good because we like
them, as against our liking them because they are good. What

is primary is the tendency, the inclination ; the pleasure and
pain are only derivative facts. It is just so in social life, if ^
l^t is soc ially bad because society disproves of it^ But, it will'
be asked, are there not some collective sentiments which result
from pleasure and pain which society feels from contact with
their ends? No doubt, but they do not all have this origin.
A great many, if not the larger part, come from other causes.
Everything that leads activity to assume a definite form can
give rise to habits, whence result tendencies which must be
satisfied. Moreover, it is these latter tendencies which alone
are truly fundamental. The others are only special forms and
more determinate. Thus, to find charm in such and such an
object, collective sensibility must already be constituted so as
to be able to enjoy it. If the corresponding sentiments are
abolished, the most harmful act to society will not only be tol-
erated, but even honored and proposed as an example. Pleas-
ure is incapable of creating an impulse out of whole cloth ; it
can only link those sentiments which exist to such and such
a particular end, provided that the end be in accord with their
original nature.

/

There are, however, some cases where the preceding does not
explain. There are some actions which are more severely
repressed than they are strongly reproved by general opinion.

. Thus, a coalition of functionaries, the encroachment of judicial
authority on administrative authority, religious functions on
civil functions, are the object of a repression which is not in
accord with the indignation that they arouse in consciences.
The appropriation of public goods leaves us quite indifferent,
and yet is punished quite severely. It may even happen that
the act punished may not directly hurt any collective sentiment.

^ There is nothing in us which protests against fishing and hunt-

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

83

•ing out of season, or against overloaded conveyances on the
public highway. But there is no reason for separating these
delicts from others; every radical distinction” would be arbi-
trary, since they all present, in different degree, the same
external criterion. No doubt, in any of these examples, the
punishment does not appear unjust. But if it is not enforced
by public opinion, such opinion, left to itself, would either not
object to it at all, or show itself less insistent. Thus, in all cases
of this type, delictness does not come about, or does not entirely
derive from the vivacity of the collective sentiments which are
offended, but comes from some other cause.

It is surely true that once a governmental power is instituted,
it has, by itself, enough force to attach a penal sanction spon-
taneously to certain rules of conduct. It is capable, by its own
action, of creating certain delicts or of increasing the crimi-
nological value of certain others. So, all the actions that we
have just cited present this common character of being directed
against some administrative organ of social life. Must we then
admit that there are two kinds of crimes coming from two dif-
ferent causes? Such an hypothesis cannot be considered. As
numerous as the varieties are, crime is everywhere essentially the
same, since it everywhere calls forth the same effect, in respect
of punishment, which, if it can be more or less intense, does not
by that change its nature. But the same fact cannot have two
causes, unless this duality is only apparent, and basically they
are one. The power of reaction which is proper to the State
ought, then, to be of the same sort as that which is diffused
throughout society.

And where would it come from? From the depth of the
interests which the State cares for and which demand protec-
tion in a very special way ? But we know that the subversion
of even deep interests does not alone suffice to determine the
penal reaction; it must still be felt in a very decided way.

” We have only to notice how Garafalo distinguishes what he calls true crimes
from others (p. 45) ; it is but a personal judgment which does not rest upon any
objective characteristic.

84

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

How does it come about that the least damage done to a gov-
ernmental organ is punished, although many much more severe
disorders in other social organs are reparable only civilly?
The smallest injury to the police power calls forth a pehaTEy,
while even repeated violation of contracts, or constant lack of
correctness in economic relations only asks amends for the loss.
Doubtless, the system of direction plays an eminent role in
social life, but there are others whose interest is of great im-
portance, yet whose functioning is not assured in this fashion.
If the brain have its importance, the stomach is an organ which
is likewise essential, and the sicknesses of one are menaces to
life just as those of the other. Why is this privilege accorded
to what is sometimes called the social brain?

The difficulty resolves itself easily if we notice that^ where-
ever a directive power is established, its primary and principal
function is to create respect for the beliefs, traditions, and col-
lective practices; that is, to defend the common conscience
against all eneiKies within and without. It thus becomes its
symbol* its living expression in the eyes of all. Thus, the life
which is in the collective conscience is communicated to the
directive organ as, the affinities of ideas are communicated to
the words which represent them, and that is how it assumes
a character which puts it above all others. It is no longer a
more or less important social function ; it is the collective type
incarnate. It participates in the authority which the latter
exercises over consciences, and it is from there that it draws its
force. Once constituted, however, without freeing itself from
the source whence it flows and whence it continues to draw its
sustenance, it nevertheless becomes an autonomous factor in
social life, capable of spontaneously producing its own move-
ments without external impulsion, precisely because of the
supremacy which it has acquired. Since, moreoverj it is only
a derivation from the force which is immanent in the collective
conscience, it necessarily has the same properties and reacts in
the same manner, although the latter does not react completely
in unison. It repulses every antagonistic force as would the

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

85

diffuse soul of society, although the latter does not feel this
antagonism, or rather, does not feel it so directly. That is, it
considers as criminal, actions which shock it without, however,
shocking the collective sentiments in the same degree. But it
is from these latter that it receives all the power which permits
it to create crimes and delicts. Besides, not coming from with-
out or arising from nothing, the following facts, which will be
amply developed in the rest of this work, confirm this explana-
tion. The extent of the activity which the governmental organ
exercises over the number and the qualification of criminal acts
depends on the force it receives. That can be measured either
by the extent of the authority which it exercises over citizens,
or by the degree of gravity recognized in crimes directed against
it. But we shall see that it is in lower societies that this
authority is greatest and this gravity most elevated, and more-
over, that it is in these same social types that the collective con-
science has the most power.

Thus, we must always rettirn to this last ; that is whence,
directly or indirectly, comes all criminality. ! Crime is not simply
the disruption even of serious interests ; it is an offense against
an authority in some way transcendent. But, from experience,
there is no moral force superior to the individual save collective
force. '

There is, moreover, a way, of checking up on the result at
which we have just arrived. ' What characterizes crime is that
it determines punishment, tf, then, our definition of crime is

exact, it ought to explain all the characteristics of punishment.
We shall proceed to this verification. !

But first w^\must find out what these characteristics are. ''

x^n^figlSyst^la consists of a passionate reaction.

This character is especially apparent in less cultivated societies.

In effect, primitive peoples punish for the sake of punishing.

Moreover, when the fihe constltritcs the w-hole punishment, since it is only
a reparation whose amount is fixed, the action is on the limits of penal law and
restitutive law.

86

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

make the culpable suffer particularly for the sake of making
him suffer and without seeking any advantage for themselves
from the suffering which they impose. The proof of this is that
they seek neither to strike back justly nor to strike back use-
fully, but merely to strike back. It is thus that they punish
animals which have committed a wrong act,'® or even inanimate
beings which have been its passive instrument.'^ When pun-
ishment is applied only to people, it often extends further than
the culpable and reaches the innocent, his wife, his children, his
neighbors, etc.'® That is because the passion which is the soul
of punishment ceases only when exhausted. If, therefore, after
it has destroyed the one who has immediately called it forth,
there still remains force within it, it expands in quite mechani-
cal fashion. Even when it is quite tempered and attends only
to the culpable, it makes its presence felt by the tendency to
surpass in severity the action against which it is reacting. That
is whence come the refinements of pain added to capital pun-
ishment. 1 Even in Rome the thief not only had to return the
stolen object, but also pay retribution of double and quadruple
the amount.'* Moreover, is not the very general punishment
of the lex talionis a satisfaction accorded to the passion for
vengeance?

But today, it is said, punishment has changed its character ;
it is no longer to avenge itself that society punishes, it is to
defend itself./ The pain which it inflicts is in its hands no longer
anything but a methodical means of protection. It punishes,
not becaus^ chastisement offers it any satisfaction for itself, but
so that the fear of punishment may paralyze those who contem- ;
plate evil. . This is no longer choler, but a reflected provision
which determines jjepression. The preceding observations
could not then be made general ; they would deal only with the

w See Exodus, xxi, 28 ; Leviticus, xx, 16.

For example, the instrument which has aided in the perpetration of murder.
— See Post, Bausteine filr eine aUegemeine Rechtsunssenschuft, 1, pp. 236-231.

See Exodus, xx, 4 and 5 ; Deuteronomy, xii, 12-18 ; Thonissen, Etudes sur
Vhistoire du droit criminel, I, p. 70 and pp. 178 fif.

Waiter, op, cit,, § 793.

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

87

primitive form of punishment and would not extend to the
existing form.

But to justify such a radical distinction between these two
sorts of punishment, it is not enough to state them in view of
their employment of different ends. The nature of a practice
does not necessarily change because the conscious intentions of
those who apply it are modified. It might, in truth, still play
the same role as before, but without being perceived. In this
case, why would it transform only in that aspect which better
explains its effects ? It adapts itself to new conditions of exist-
ence without any essential changes. It is so with punishment.

It is an error to believe that vengeance is but useless cruelty.
It is very possible that, in itself, it consists of a mechanigal and
aimless reaction, iii an emotional and irrational movement, in
an unintelligent need to destroy ; but, in fact, what it tends to
destroy was a menace to us. It consists, then, in a veritable
act of defense, although an instinctive and unreflective one. We
avenge ourselves only upon what has done us evil, and what
has done us evil is always dangerous. The instinct of ven-
geance is^ in sum, only the instinct of conservation exacerbated
by peril. Thus, vengeance is far from having had the negative
and sterile role in the history of mankind which is attributed
to it. It is a defensive weapon which has its worth, but it is
a rude weapon. As it has no realization of the services which
it automatically renders, it cannot, in consequence, regulate
; but it responds somewhat haphazardly to blind causes
which urge it on and without anything moderating its activities.
Today, since we better understand the end to be attained, we
jetter know how to utilize the means at our disposal ; we pre-
set ourselves with better means and, accordingly, more effi- '
ciently. But, in the beginning, this result was obtained in a
rather imperfect manner. Between the punishment of today
and yesterday, there is no chasm, and consequently it was not
necessary for the latter to become something other than itself
to accommodate itself to the role that it plays in our civilized
societies. The whole difference derives from the fact that it

88

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

now produces its effects with a much greater understanding of
what it does. But, although the individual or social conscience
may not be without influence upon the reality that it clarifies,
it has not the power to change its nature. The internal struc-
ture of phenomena remains the same, whether they be conscious
of it or not. We thus reach the conclusion that the essential
elements of punishment are the same as of old.

And in truth, punishment has remained, at least in part, a
work of vengeance. It is said that we do not make the culpable
suffer in order to make him suffer ; it is none the less true that
we find it just that he suffer. Perhaps we are wrong, but that
is not the question. We seek, at the moment, to define punish-
ment as it is or has been, not as it ought to be. It is certain
that this expression of public vindication which finds its way
again and again into the language of the courts is not a word
taken in vain. In supposing that punishment can really serve
to protect us in the future, we think that it ought to be above
all an expiation of the past. The proof of this lies in the minute
precautions we take to proportion punishment as exactly as
,po^ible to the severity of the crime; they would be inexplica-
ble if we did not believe that the culpable ought to suffer
because he has done evil and in the same degree. In effect,
/this gradation is not necessary if punishment is only a means
of defense. No doubt, there would be danger for society
in having the gravest acts considered simple delicts; but it
would be greater, in the majority of cases, if the second were
considered as the first. Against an enemy, we cannot take too
much precaution. Shall we say that the authors of the smallest
misdeeds have natures le.ss perverse, and that to neutralize their
evil instincts less stringent punishments will suffice? But if
their motives are less vicious, they are not on that account less
intense. Robbers are as strongly inclined to rob as murderers
are to murder ; the resistance offered by the former is not less
than that of the latter, and consequently, to control it, we would
have recourse to the same means. If, as has been said, it was
solely a question of putting down a noxious force byjux^posing ;

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

89

force, the intensity of the second would be measured solely by
the intensity of the first, without the quality of the latter enter-
ing into-the consideration. The penal scale would then encom-
* pass only a small number of degrees. Punis h ment wo uld vary
only as the criminal is more or less hardened, and not according
to th'e~nataTe of the criiiitol act;'' An incorrigible robber would
be treated as an incorrigible murderer. But, in fact, if it were
shown that a misdoer was definitely incurable, we would feel
bound not to chastise him unduly. This is proof that we are
faithful to the principle of retaliation, although we apply it in
a more elevated sense than heretofore. We no longer measure
in so material and gross a manner either the extent of the deed
or of the punishment; but we always think that there ought
to be an equation between the two terms, whether or not we
benefit from this balance. Punishment, thus, remains for us
what it was for our fathers. It is still an act of vengeance since
it is an expiation. What we avenge, what the criminal expiates,
is the outrage to morality.

There is, indeed, a punishment where this passionate character
is more manifest than elsewhere. It is the disgrace which
doubles the majority of punishments and which grows with
them. Very often it serves no purpose. What good is it to dis-
grace a man who ought no longer to live in a society of his peers
and who has superabundantly proved by his conduct that the
most redoubtable threats are not sufficient to intimidate him?
Disgrace is called upon when there is no other punishment, or
as complement to a quite feeble material punishment. In the
latter case it metes out double punishment. We can even say
that society has recourse to legal chastisement only when the
others are insufficient; but then why maintain them? They
are a sort of supplementary, aimless aid, and can have no other
cause for being other than the need of compensating evil with
evil. It is a product of instinctive, irresistible sentiments,
which often extend to the innocent. It is thus that the place
of crime, the instruments which have served it, the relatives of

90

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

the culpable, sometimes participate in the opprobrium in which
the criminal is involved. But the causes which determine this
diffuse repression are the same as those of the organized repres-
sion which accompany the former. It is sufficient, moreover, to
see how punishment functions in courts, in order to understand
that its spirit is completely passionate, for it is to these pas-
sions that both prosecufdr and deTehse-attorney addF^'them-
selyek The latter seeks to excite sympathy for the defendant,
the former to awaken the social sentiments which have been
violated by the criminal act, and it is under the influence of
“these contrary passions that the judge pronounces sentence.

/ Thus, the nature of punishment haS-.not bee n changed in
essentfals.' All that we can say is that the need of ve ngeance is'
better directed today than heretofore. ' The spirit of foresight
which has been aroused no longer leaves the field so free for the
blind action of passion. It contains it within certain limits ;_it
is opposed to absurd violence, to unreasonable ravaging. More
clarified, it expands less on chance. One no longer sees it turn
against the innocent to satisfy itself. But it nevertheless
remains the soul of penality. We can thus say that punishment
^^nsists in a passionate reaction of graduated intensity.*^

But whence comes this reaction? Fro m t he individual or
from society?

Everybody knows that it is society that punishes, but it might
be held that this is not by design. What puts beyond doubt
the social character of punishment is that, once pronounced, it
cannot be lifted except by the government in the name of
society. If it were a satisfaction given to particular persons,
they would always be the judges of its remission. We cannot
conceive of a privilege imposed unless its beneficiary could
renounce it. If it is society alone that employs the repression,

Moreover, this is what those who find the idea of expiation unintelligible
themselves recognize, for their conclusion is that, to be put in harmony with
their doctrine, the traditional conception of punishment must be totally trans-
formed and reformed from top to bottom. This is because it rests and has
always rested upon the principle which they oppose. See Fouill6e, Science
Sodale, pp. 307 fi.

MECHANICAL SOJilDARITY

91

that is. because it is attacked when individuals are, and the
attack directed against it is repressed by punishment.

We can cite cases, however, where the execution of punish-
ment depends upon the desires of particular people. In Rome,
certain misdeeds were punished in a manner to profit the
wronged party, who could renounce it or make it an object of
compromise ; such were robbery unseen, rapine, slander, damagj^
unjustly caused.'* These delicts, which wdre called private
(delicta pr,ivata), were different from crime properly speaking,
whosei-repression was pursued in the name of the city. We find
the same distinction in Greece and among the Hebrews.'®
Among more primitive peoples punishment sometimes seems
still more completely private, as the custom of the vendetta
would seem to prove. These societies are composed of ele-
mentary aggregations of quasi-familial character, and are easily
described by the word clans. But when an attack has been
made by one or several members of a clan against another clan,

H is the latter which itself punishes the offense to whji;;ih. it has
be^^ubjected.** What seemingly increases the importance of
these facts is that it has very often been contended that the
vendMa was primitively the unique form of punishment. But,
then, it would have first consisted in acts of private venegeance.
But if today society is armed with the right to punish, it can
be, it seems, only because of a sort of delegation of individuals.
It. is, only their representative. It guards their interest for
them, probably because it guards them better, but these inter-
ests are not properly its own. According to this principle, they
would avenge themselves. Now it is society which avenges
them, but as penal law could not have changed its nature accord-
ing to this simple transfer, there would be nothing social about
it- If society a ppears to play a prepond erant role in it, it is
only as a substitute for individuals.

^ Rut, as common as this theory is, it is contrary to facts better ■,

Rein, op. cit., p. 111. ^

Among the Hebrews, robbery, violation of trust, abuse of confidence, and
assault were treated as private delicts.

2 ® See especially Morgan, Ancient Society, p, 76, London, 1870.

92

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

established. Not a single society can be instanced where the
vendetta has been the primitive form of punishment. On the
contrary, it is certain that penal law was essentially religious
in its grigin. It is an evidqpt fact in India and Judea, since
the law which was practiced there was considered revealed.**
In Egypt, the ten books of Hermes, which contained the criminal
l|w with all other laws relative to the government of the State,
were called sacerdotal, and Elien affirms that, from earliest
times, the Egyptian priests exercised judicial' power.** The
case was the same in ancient Germany.** In Greece, justice
was considered as an emanation from Zeus, and the sentiment
a vengeance from God.** In Rome, the religious origins of penal
law are clearly shown both by old traditions,** and by archaic
practices which persisted until a late date, and by the juridical
terminology itself.*® But religion is an essentially social phe-
nomenon. Far from pursuing only personal ends, it exercises,
at all times, a constraint upon the individual. It forces him
I into practices which subject him to small or large sacrifices
which are painful to him. He must take from his goods the
offerings that he is compelled to present to the divinity*! he
must take time from his work or play in which to observe rites ;
he must impose upon himself every sort of privation which is de-
manded of him, even to renounce life if the gods ordain. B;?li*
gious life consists entirely in abnegation and disinter est edness.
If, then, in primitive societies, criminal law is religious law7 we
can be sure that the interests it serves are social. It is their
own offenses that the gods avenge by punishment and not those

** In Judea, the judges were not priests, but every judge was the representa-
tive of God, the man of God. {Deuteronomy, i, 17 ; Exodus, xxii, 28.) In
India, it was the king who judged, but this function was regarded as essentially
religious. (Manou, VIII, v, 303-311.)

2* Thonissen, Etudes sur Vhistoire du droit criminel, I, p. 107.

** Zoepfl, Deutsche Rechtsgeschichte, p. 909.

“It is the son of Saturn, “ says Hesiod, “who has given justice to men.“
{Works and Days, V, 279 and 280.) “When mortals commit . . . wrong acts,
Zeus in his wisdom metes out proper punishment.” Ibid,, V, 266. Cf. Iliad,
XVI, 384 ff.

« Walter, op. cit., § 788.

** Rein, op. cit., pp. 27-36. *

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

93

of particular persons. But offenses against the gods are offenses
against society.

^ Thus,, in lower societies, the most numerous delicts are those
which relate to public affairs; delicts against religion, against
custom, against authority, etc. We need only look at the Bible,
the laws of Manou, at the monuments which remain of the old
Egyptian law to see the i;elatively small place accorded to pre-
scriptions for the protection of individuals, and, contrariwise,
the luxuriant development of repressive legislation concerning
the different forms of sacrilege, the omission of certain religious
duties, the demands of ceremonial, etc.-^ At the same time,
these crimes are the most severely punished. Among the Jews,
the most abominable attacks are those against religion.^®
Among the ancient Germans, only two crimes were punished by
death according to Tacitus : treason and desertion.’^ Accord-
ing to Confucius and Meng-Tseu, impiety is a greater crime
than murder.®^ In Egypt, the smallest sacrilege was punished
by death.®^ In Rome, the height of criminality is found in the
crimen perduellionis.^^

But then, what of the private punishments of which we gave
some examples above ? They have a mixed nature and invoke
at the same time the repressive sanction and the restitutive
sanction. It is thus that the private delict of Roman law repre-
sents a sort of intermediary between crime properly called and
the purely civil breach. It has traits of both and is marginal
on the confines of the two domains. It is a delict in the sense
that the sanction fixed by law does not simply consist in a
restoration of things to their original state ; the delinquent is
forced not only to repair the damage he has caused, but he must
also expiate the deed. But it is not completely a delict since,
if it is society that metes out punishment, it is not society that
is mistress of its applica^sc^ It is a right that it confers on

See Thonissen, passim, '

** Munck, Palestine^ p. 216.

Germania^ XII.

Plath, Gesetz und Rechi in alien China, pp. 69 and 70, 1865.

« Thonissen, op, cit,, I, p. 146. ** Walter, op, cit,, § 803.

94

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

the wronged party who alone freely exercises it.** Moreover,
the vendetta is evidently a punishment which society recognizes
asTegRimate, but which it leaves to particular persons to indict.
These facts only confirm what we have said of the nature of
penality. If this sort of intermediate sanction is in part a
private thing, in the same degree it is not a punishment. The
penal character is less pronounced as the social character is more
effaced, and inversely. It is far from true that private vengeance %
is the prototype of punishment ; it is, on the contrary, only an
imperfect punishment. Far from attacks against persons being
the first which were reprised, in origin they are only on the
threshold of penal law. They are raised in the scale of crimi-
nality only as society is more fully distressed by them, and this
operation, which we do not have to describe, is not reducible
simply to a transfer. On the contrary, the history of this
penality is only a continuous series of encroachments by society
upon the individual, or rather on elementary groups that it con-
tains within its scope, and the result of these encroachments is
to displace individual law more and more by social law.*^

But the above characteristics appertain quite as well to dif-
fuse repression which follows simply immoral actions as they do
to legal repression. What distinguishes legal repression is, we
have said, that it is organized ; but in what does this organiza-
tion consist?

When we think of penal law as it functions in our own societies,
we consider it as a code where very definite punishments are
attached to equally definite crimes. The judge is given a cer-
tain latitude in the application to each particular case of these
general dispositions, but in its essential lineaments, punishment
is predetermined for each category of delictuous acts. This
planned organization does not, h ogygy er, constitute punishment,

^ However, what accentuates the 1lllnfl|HFacter of the private delict is that
it implies infamy, a true public punishfhSK (See Rein, op, eit., p. 916, and
Bouvy, De Vinfamie en droit romain, p. 36.)

** In every case, it is important to notice that the vendetta is an eminently coU
lective thing. It is not the individual who avenges himself, but his clan. Later,
it is to the clan or to the family that restitution is made.

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

95

for there are societies where punishment exists without being
fixed in advance. There is in the Bible a number of prohibitions
which are as imperative as possible, but which are not sanc-
tioned by any expressly formulated punishment. There is no
doubt about their penal character, for, if the texts are silent as
to the punishment, yet they express such a horror of the act
that we cannot for a moment suppose that it went unpunished.®®
There is every reason for believing, then, that this silence of
the law comes simply from the undetermined nature of the
repression. And, in effect, many instances in the Pentateuch
teach us that there were acts whose criminal value was incon-
testable, yet whose punishment was established only by the
judge who applied it. Society knew well enough that it was
in the presence of a crime, but the penal sanction which should
have been attached to it was not yet determined.®® Moreover,
even among punishments which are enunciated by the legislator,
there are a great many which are not specified with precision.
Thus, we know that there were different sorts of punishment
which were not put on the same level, and moreover, in a great
number of cases the texts speak only of death in a general
manner, without saying what kind of death ought to be inflicted.
According to Maine, the case was the same in primitive Rome ;
the crimina were prosecuted before the assembly of the people
who fixed with their sovereign will the punishment according
to a law, at the same time as they established the reality of the
fact incriminated.®^ Besides, even until the sixteenth century,
the general principle of penality “is that the application was left
to the discretion of the judge, arhitrio et officio judicis. . . .
Only, a judge was not permitted to invent punishments other

Deuteronomy^ vi, 26.

“And while the children of Israel were in the wilderness, they found a man
gathering sticks upon the sabbath day. And they that found him gathering
sticks brought him unto Moses and Aaron, and unto all the congregation. And
they put him in ward, because it had not been declared what should be done to
him,** Numbers, xv, 32-34. Another time, it was a question of a man who had
blasphemed against the name of the Lord. He was arrested, but they did not
know what to do with him. Moses himself did not know and went to consult
the Lord. {Leniticus, xxiv, 12-16.)

Ancient Law.

96

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

than those which were customary/^ Another result of this
power of the judge was to make entirely dependent upon his
judgment even the qualification of the criminal act, which,
consequently, was itself not determined.^®

It is not, then, in the regulation of punishments that the dis-^^
tinctive organization of this type of repression consists. It is,
moreover, not in the institution of criminal procedure. The
facts that we have just cited show quite well that that remained
faulty for a long time. The only organization which meets us
everywhere that there is punishment properly so called is that
resident in the establishment of a tribunal. In whatever man-
ner it is composed, whether it comprises all the people, or only
a select number, whether or not it follows a regular procedure
as much in the instruction of the affair as in the application of
the punishment, because the infraction, instead of being judged
by each, is submitted to the consideration of a constituted
body, because the collective reaction has a definite organ as an
intermediary, it ceases to be diffuse; it is organized. The
organization will be more complete the moment it exists.

Punishment consists, then, essentially in a passionate reaction^
of graduated intensity that society exercises through the mediunr
of a body acting upon those of its members who have violated
certain rules of conduct.

Thus, the definition we have given of crime quite easily
explains all these characteristics of punishment.

Ill

Every strong state of conscience is a source of life ; it is
/essential factor of our general vitality. Consequently, every-
thing that tends to enfeeble it wastes and corrupts us. There
results a troubled sense of illness analogous to that which we
feel when an important function is suspended or lapses. It is
then inevitable that we should react energetically against the
v^cause that threatens us with such diminution, that we strain

** Du Boys, Histoire du droit criminel des peuplea moderneSt VI, p. 11,

” Du Boys, ibid.t p. 14.

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

97

to do away with it in order to maintain the integrity of our
conscience.

In the first class of causes which produce this result, we must
put the representation of a contrary state. A representation
is not simply a mere image of reality, an inert shadow pro-
jected by things upon us, but it is a force which raises around
itself a turbulence of organic and psychical phenomena. Not
only does the nervous current which accompanies the ideation
radiate to the cortical centres around the point where it origi-
nated and pass from one plexus to the next, but it gains a
foothold in the motor centres where it determines movements,
in the sensorial centres where it arouses images, sometimes
excites beginnings of illusions and may even affect vegetative
functions."*® This foothold is as much more considerable as the
representation is itself more intense, as the emotional element is
more developed. Thus, the representation of a sentiment con-
trary to ours acts in us in the same sense and in the same
manner as the sentiment for which it is a substitute. It is as
if it had itself become part of our conscience. It has, in truth,
the same affinities, although less lively ; it tends to evoke the
same ideas, the same movements, the same emotions. It sets
up a resistance to the play of our personal sentiment and,
accordingly, enfeebles it by directing a great part of our energy
in an opposing direction. It is as if a strange force were intro-
duced by nature to upset the free functioning of our psychic life.
That is why a conviction opposed to ours cannot manifest itself
in our" presence without troubling us ; that is because, at the
same time, it penetrates us, and finding itself in conflict with
everything that it encounters, causes real disorders. Of course,
in so far as the conflict ensues only between abstract ideas,
there is nothing disastrous about it, because there is nothing
deep about it. The realm of ideas is at the same time the most
elevated and the most superficial in conscience, and the changes
which it undergoes, not having any extended repercussions,
have only feeble effects upon us. But when it is a question of

See Maudsley, Phyaiologie de Vesvrit, tr. fr. p. 270.

98

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

a belief which is dear to us, we do not, and cannot, permit a
contrary belief to rear its head with impunity. Every offensa
directed against it calls forth an emotional reaction, more o^
less violent, which "liufhs 'gainst !Ke" offender. We“mveigh*^
against it, we work against it, we will to do something to it, and
the sentiments so evolved cannot fail t(^transTate*TKeittselves
ihto actions. We run away from it, we hold it at a distance,
we banish it from our society, etc. '"~~

We do not pretend, of course, that every strong conviction
is necessarily intolerant. The current observatioii suffices to
show the contrary. But external causes neutralize those whose
effects we have just analyzed. For example, there can Toe a
general ssmapathy between adversaries which sets bounds to
their antagonism and attenuates it. But this sympathy must
be stronger than this antagonism ; otherwise it would not sur-
vive. Or else the two parties, face to face, turn from the con-
flict realizing that it solves nothing and content themselves with
the retention of their former situations. They tolerate each
other, not being able to conquer. The reciprocal tolerance
which puts an end to religious wars is often of this nature. In
all these cases, if the conflict of sentiments does not engender
its natural consequences, that is not because it does not harbor
them ; it is because it is hindered in their production.

Moreover, they are useful as well as necessary. Besides aris-
ing from the causes producing them, they contribute to their
maintenance. All violent emotions really appeal to supple-
mentary forces which come to render to the attacked sentiment
the energy which the contradiction extorts from it. It has been
sometimes said that choler was useless because it was only a
destructive passion, but that is to see only one of its aspects.
In fact, it consists of a superexcitation of latent and disposable
forces which come to the aid of our personal sentiment in the
face of the dangers by re-enforcing thenoKr In a state of peace,

' the sentiment is not sufficiently armed for conflict. It would
be in danger of succumbing if the passionate reserves were not
available at the desired moment. Choler is nothing else than

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

99

the mobilization of these reserves. It may even come about
that the aid so evoked being more than needed, the discussion
may have as its result the greater affirmation of our convictions,
rather than their weakening.

But we know what degree of energy a belief or a sentiment
can take solely because it is felt by the same community of
men in relation with one another ; the causes of this phenomenon
are now well known.*^ Even as contrary states of conscience
enfeeble themselves reciprocally, identical states of conscience,
in exchanging, re-enforce one another. While the first detract,
the second add. If anyone expresses before we do an idea
which we have already thought of, the representation that we
gain from it contributes to our own idea, superimposes itself,
confounds itself with it, communicates to it whatever vitality
it has. From this fusion grows a new idea which absorbs its
predecessors and which, accordingly, is more vivid than each
of tho^ taken separately. That is why, in large assemblies, an '
emotion can acquire such violence. It is because the vivacity
with which it is produced in each conscience has repercussions'
in all the others. It is not even necessary for us to experience
a collective sentiment by ourselves, through our individual
nature alone, for it to assume such an intensity for us, for what
we add to it is after all a little thing. It suffices that we be not
occupied refractorily to it, so that, penetrating from outside
with a force that its origin gives it, it may impose itself upon us.
Since, therefore, the sentiments which crime offends are, in any
given society, the most universally collective that there arej^
since they are, indeed, particularly strong states of the pommon
conscience, it is impossible for them to tolerate contradiction.
Particularly if this contradiction is not purely theoretical, if it
aflBirms itself not only by words, but by acts — when it is thus"
carried to its maximum, we cannot avoid rising against it
passionately. A simple restitution of the troubled-order would
not suffice for us; we must have a more violent satisfaction.
The force against which the crime comes is too intense to react'

^ See Espinas, SociiUs animales, passim.

100

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

with very much moderation. Moreover, it cannot do so with-
. out enfeebling itself, for it is thanks to the intensity of the
Ireaction that it keeps alive and maintains itself with the same
Jdegree of energy.

We can thus explain a character of this reaction that has
often seemed irrational. It is certain that at the bottom of
the notion of expiation there is the idea of a satisfaction accorded
to some power, real or ideal, which is superior to us. When we
desire the repression of crime, it is not we that we desire to
avenge personally, but to avenge something sacred which we
feel more or less confusedly outside and above us. This some-
thing we conceive of in different ways according to the time and
the place. Sometimes it is a simple idea, as morality, duty;
most often we represent it in the form of one or several con-
crete beings: ancestors, divinity. That is why penal law is
not alone essentially religious in origin, but indeed always ]
retains a certain religious stamp. It is because the actS'that |
it punishes appear to be attacks upon something transcendent,
whether being or concept. It is for this very reason that we
explain to ourselves the need for a sanction superior to a simple
reparation which would content us in the order of purely human
interests.

Assuredly, this representation is illusory . It is ourselves
that we, in a sense, avenge, ourselves that we satisfy, since it
is within us and in us alone that the offended sentiments are
found. But this illusion is necessary. Since these sentimenti0
have exceptional force because of their collective o rigin, their
universality, their permanence, and their intrinsic.,in,tensity,
they separate themselves radically from the rest of our con-
science whose states are much more feeble. They dominate .
Us ; they are, so to speak, something superhuman, and, at tl^
same time, they bind us to objects which are outside of olur
temporal life. They appear to us as an echo in us of a force
which is foreign to us, and which is superior to that which we
are. We are thus forced to project them outside ourselves, to
attribute what concerns them to some exterior object’ We

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

101

know today how partial alienations of personality thus come
a^ut. This mirage is so inevitable that, under one form or
another, it will ^row u ntil a repressive system appears. For, if
this did not follow, we would not need collective sentiments of
more than mediocre intensity, and in that case there would no
longer be such a thing as punishment. Shall we say that the
error will dissipate itself as soon as men are conscious of it ? But
we hardly know that the sun is an immense globe ; we see it only
as a disc of a few inches. T^is information can teach us t o
i nter pret pur_ sensations,,; it can not change .tEem.” Besides, the
error is only partial. _Since these sentiments are collective it
is._n ot us they represent in us^ but society. Thus, in avenging
them, it is surely society and not ourselves that we avenge, and
moreover, it is something superior to the individual. It is
thus wrong for us to seize upon this quasi-religious character of
expiation and consider it as a sort of parasitic hypostatization.
It is, on the contrary, an integral element of punishment. No
doubt, it expresses its nature in a somewhat metaphorical
manner, but the metaphor is not without truth.

Moreover, we know that the penal reaction is not uniform in '
all cases since the emotions which determine it are not always
the same. They are, in effect, more or less lively according to
the_yiyjicity of the offended sentiment, and also according to
the gravity of the offense suffered. A strong state reacts more
than a feeble state, and two states of the same intensity react
unequally according as they are more or less violently opposed.
These variations are produced of necessity, and, moreover, they
have their uses, since it is right that the appeal of forces be
related to the importance of the danger. Were they too feeble,
it would be insufficient ; too violent, it would be a useless loss. ,
^ce the gravity of the criminal act varies in relation to
Yhe same factors, the proportionality that we observe every-
where between crime and punishment establishes itself with
mechanical spontaneity, without there being any necessity for
making learned suppositions for its calculation. What gives
crimes grades is also that which gives punishments grades. The

102

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

two scales cannot, consequently, fail to correspond, and this
correspondence, to be necessary, must be useful at the same
time.

As for the social character of this reaction, it comes from the
sc|Bial nature of the offended sentiments. Because they are
found in all consciences, the infraction committed arouses in
those who have evidence of it or who learn of its existence the
same indignation. Everybody is attacked ; consequently,
everybody opposes the attack. Not only is the reaction gen-
eral, but it is collective, which is not the same thing. It is
not produced isolatedly in each one, but with a totality and a
unity, nevwtheless variable, according to the case. In effect,
while opI)08ite sentiments oppose each other, similar sentiments
attract each other, and as strongly do they attract as they
themselves are intense. As contradiction is an exasperating
danger, it adds to their attractive force. Never do we feel
the need of the company of our compatriots so greatly as when
we are in a strange country ; never does the believer feel so
strongly attracted to his co-religionists as during periods of
persecution. Of course, we always love the company of those
who feel and think as we do, but it is with passion, and no longer
solely with pleasure, that we seek it immediately after discussions
where our common beliefs have been greatly combated. Crime
brings together upright consciences and concentrates them.
We have only to notice what happens, particularly in a small
town, when some moral scandal has just been committed.
They stop each other on the street, they visit each other, th^
seek to come together to talk of the event and to wax indignant
in common. From all the similar impressions which are
exchanged, from all the temper that gets itself expressed, there
emerges a unique temper, more or less determinate according
to the circumstances, which is everybody’s without being any-,
body’s in particular. That is the public temper.

Moreover, it alone has a specific use.' . In fact, the ^ntiments
thus in question derive all their force they

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

103

are common to everybody. T hey are strong be cause they are
uhcontested . What adds the peculiar respect oT'wKich'fhey
are the object is that they are universally respected. But
crime is possible only if this respect is not truly universal.
Consequently, it implies that they are not absolutely collective.
Crime thus damages this unanimity which is the source of their
auth ori ty. If, then, when it is committed, the conscienois
which it offends do not unite themselves to give mutual evi-
dence of their commimion, and recognize that the case is anom-
aloqs, they would be permanently unsettled. They must
re-enforce themselves by mutual assurances that they are always
agreed. The only means for this is action in common. In
short, since it is the common conscience which is attacked, it ^
must be that which resists, and accordingly the resistance must
be collective.'

It remains for us to say why it is organized.

This last character will be explained if we realize that organ-
ized repression is not 6pposed to diffuse repression, but is dis-
tinguished from^ it only by a difference of degree ; the reaction
has more unity. The very great intensity and the very definite
nature of the sentiments which punishment properly so called
avenges, clearly accounts for this more perfect unification.' If
the traversed state is feeble, or if it is traversed only feebly, it can
only determine a feeble concentration of outraged consciences.
On the contrary, if it is strong, if the offense is serious, the whole
group attacked masses itself in the face of the danger and
unites, so to speak, in itself. They no longer are content with
exchanging impressions when they find the occasion, of approach-
ing each other here or there according to chance or the con-
venience of meeting, but the agitation which has graduall}!
gained ground violently pushes all those who are alike towards,
one another and unites them in the same place. This material
contraction of the aggregate, while making the mutual pene-
■ tration of spirits more intimate, also makes all group-movements
easier. The emotionaLreactions of which each conscience is

104 , DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

the theatre are thus in most favorable condition for unification.
If they were too diverse, however, whether in quality or in
quantity, a complete fusion between these partially heterogene-
ous and irreducible elements would be impossible. But we
know that the sentiments which determine them are very
definite, and consequently very uniform. They participate in
the same uniformity, and, accordingly, quite naturally lose
themselves in one another, compounding in a unique resultant
which serves as their substitute and which is exercised, not by
each alone, but by the social body so constituted.

Many facts tend to prove that such was, historically, the
genesis of punishment. We know that, in origin, the assembly
of the people in their entirety functioned as the tribunal. If
we look at the examples we just cited from the Pentateuch, we
shall observe these things as we have' just described them. As
soon as the news of a crime gets abroad, the people unite, and
although the punishment may not be predetermined, the re-
action is unified. In certain cases, indeed, the people them-
selves executed the sentence collectively as soon as it had been
pronounced.^ Thus, when the assembly became incarnated in
the person of a chief, he became, totally or in part, the organ of
penal reaction, and the organization guided itself conformably
to the general laws of all organic development. i

^ Thus, the nature of collective sentiments accounts for p iinish J
ment, and, consequently, for crime. Moreover, we see anew
that the power of reaction which is given over to governmental
functionaries, once they have made their appearance, is only an
emanation of that which has been diffuse in society since its
bjrth. The one is only the reflex of the other. The extent
of the first varies with that of the second. Let us add, more-
over, that the institution of this power serves to maintain the
common conscience itself. For it would be enfeebled if the
organ which represents it did not partake of that which inspired

" See above, p. 95, footnote 36.

^ See Thonissen, Etudes, etc. II, pp. 30 and 232. The witnesses of a crime
sometimes play a preponderant role in the execution.

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

' 105

it and the particular authority that it exercises. But it cannot
participate in it unless all the acts which offend it are oppp^ed
and combatted as those which offend the collective conscience,
even though the collective conscience is not directly affected.

IV

Thus, the analysis of punishment confirms our definition of
crime. We beg an by establishing inductively that crime
consisted essentially in an act contrary to .strong and defin ed
states of the common consc ience. We have just seen that all
the qualities of punishment ultimately deri ve from this nature
of crime. That is because the rules that it sanctions express
the most essential social likenesses.

Thus we see what type of solidarity penal law symbolize s. '
Everybody knows that there is a soc ial cohesion whose cause
lies in a certain conformity of all particu la r consciences^ a
/iom mon type w hich is none other than the psyghig .type of
society . In these conditions, not only are all the members of-
t he group ind ividually attracted to one another because they
resemble one an other, but also because they are joined to wha t
i s the c ondition of exist ence of this collective type ; that is to
* say7~t6 the society that they form by their union .'* Not only do
citizens love ea^ othe r and seek each other outin preferenc e to
stra^Srsrbut'theyTove their country. They will it as they will
themselyesj hol<r'fo it durably and for prosperity, because,
without it, a great part of their psychic lives would function
poorly. Inversely, society holds to what they present in the
way of fundamental resemblances because that is a condition of .•
its cohesion. fl!'here are in us two consciences: one contains *
states which are personal to each of us and which characterize
us, while the states which comprehend the other are common
to all society.^ The first represent only our individual per-
sonality and constitute it ; the second represent the collective

** To simplify the exposition, we hold that the individual appears only in one
society. In fact, we take part in several groups and there are in us several col-
lective consciences ; but this complication changes nothing with regard to the
relation that we are now establishing.

10l5 - DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

type and, consequently, society, without which it would not
e^sL When it is one of the elements of this latter which de-
termines our conduct, it is not in view of our personal interest
that we act, but we pursue collective ends. Although distinct,
these two consciences arc linked one to the othe r, since, in sum,
they^are only one, having one and the same organic substratum.
They are thus solidary, from this results a solidarity s ui
generis^ which , born of resemblances, direct ly links the i n-
dividual wit h society.^ ' We shall be better able to show in the
next chapter why ^ propose to call it mechanical. This
^lidarit y dqe^not consist only i n a j eneral^nd inde termm ate
attachment of the individual to the'gr^iTpVTOrals^^ the
detail of his , movements harmpni6 usr“Tirshort, as these col-
lective movements are always the same, they always produce
the same effects. Consequently, each time that they are in
play ;Vllls move spontaneously and together in the sam e sense.

^It la this solidarity which repressive law expresses, at le ast,
whatever there is vital in it.y IThe acts that it prohibits and
C[ualifies as crimes are of two sorts. Either they directly
manifest very violent dissemblance between the agent who
accomplishes them and the collective type, or else they offend
the organ of the common conscience . ) In one case as in the other,
the force that is offended'by the crime and which suppresses'it
is thus the same. It is a product of the most essential social
likenesses , and it has for its effect the maintenance of the social
cohesion which results from these likenesses. It is thisTorce
which penal law protects against all enfeeblement, both in de-
manding from each of us a minimum of resemblances without
which the individual would be a menace to the unity of the
social body, and in imposing upon us the respect for the symbol
which expresses and summarizes these resemblances at the
same time that it guarantees them.

We thus explain why acts have been so often reputed crim-
inal and punished as such without, in themsel ves, bei ng evil for
society. That is, just as the individual tj^, the collective
type is formed from very diverse causes and even from fortuitous

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

107

combinations. Produced through historical development, it
carries the mark of circumstances of every kind which society
has gone through in its history. It would be miraculous, then,
if everything that we find there were adjusted to some useful
end. But it cannot be that elements more or less munerous
were there introduced without having any relation to social
utility. Among the inclinations and tendencies that the in-
dividual has received from his ancestors, or which he has formed
himself, many are certainly of no use, or cost more than they
are worth. Of course, the majority are not harmful, for being,
under such conditions, does not mean activity. But there are
some of them remaining without any use, and those whose
services are most incontestable often have an intensity which
*has no relation to their utility, because it comes to them, in
part, from other causes. The case is the same with collective
passions. All the acts which offend them are not dangerous
i n themselves, or, at least, are not as dangerous as they a re
made out to be. But, the reprobation of wh i ch these acts
"are the object still has reason for existing, whatever the origin
of the sentiments involved, once they are made part of a coll eo-
t ive type, and especially if they are essential elements, eve ry-
thing which contributes to disturb them, at the same time
disturbs social cohesion and compromises society. It was not
at all useful for them to be born, but once they have endured,
it becomes necessary that they persist in spite of their irra-
tionality. That is why it is good, in general, that the acts
which offend them be not tolerated. * Of course, reasoning in
the abstract, we may well show that there is no reason for a
society to forbid the eating of such and such a meat, in itself
inoffensive. But once the horror of this has become an integraP
part of the common conscience, it cannot disappear without
a social link being broken, and that is what sane consciences
obscurely feel.^

That does-not fnean that it is necessary to conserve a penal rule because,
at some given moment, it corresponded to some collective sentiment. It has a
raison d*itre only if this latter is living and energetic. If it has disappeared or
been enfeebled, nothing is vainer or worse than trying to keep it alive artificially

108 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

Cxhe case is the same with punishment. Although it proceeds
from a quite mechanical reaction, from movements which are
passionate and in great part non-reflective, it does play a useful
role. Only this role is hot'where we ordinarily look,iQr it. It
does not serve, or else only serves quite secondarily, in correct-
ing the culpable or in intimidating possible followers. From
this point of view, its efficacy is justly doubtful and, in any case,
mediocreT^Its true function is to maintain soci al cohe sion
intact, while ifiaintaiamg all Tts vitality In 'the uuiiniiuu con-
sciggftgr ~~ Benied 86 categorically, it vTOntd necessarily lose its
energy, if- an emotional reaction of the community did not come
to compensate its loss, and it would result in a breakdown of
social solidarity. It is necessary, then, that it be affirmed
forcibly at the very moment when it is contradicted, and the
only means of affirming it is to express the unanimous aversion
which the crime continues to inspire, by an authentic act which
can consist only in suffering inflicted upon the agent. JJhus,
while being the necessary product of the causes which engender
it, this suffering is not a gratuitous cruelty. It is the sign
which witnesses that collective sentiments are always collective,
that the communion of spirits in the same faith rests on a solid
foundation, and accordingly, that it is repairing the evil which
the crime inflicted upon society. That is why we are right in
saying that the criminal must suffer in proportion to his crime,
why theories which refuse to punishment any expiatory char-
acter appear as so many spirits subversive of the social order.
It is because these doctrines could be practiced only in a society
where the whole common conscience would be nearly gone.
Without this necessary satisfaction, what we call the moral
conscience could not be conserved. We can thus say without
paradox that punishment is above all designed to act upon
upright people, for, since it serves to heal, the wounds made
upon collective sentiments, it can fill this role only where these

or by force. It can even be that it was necessary to combat a practice which was
common, but is no longer so, and opposes the establishment of new and neces-
sary practices. But we need not enter into this casuistical problem*

MECHANICAL SOLIDARITY

109

sentiments exist, and commensurately with their vivacity.
Of course, by warning already disturbed spirits of a new en-
feeblement of the collective soul, it can even stop attacks from
multiplying, but this result, however useful, is only a particu-
lar counter blow. In short, in order to form an exact idea
of punishment, we must reconcile the two con traHinfnry
ories which dea l w ith it : that which sees it as expiation, and
that which makes it a weapon for social defense,. It is certain
that it functions for the protection of society, but that is because
it is expiatory. Moreover, if it must be expiatory, that does
not mean that by some mystical virtue pain compensates for
the error, but rather that it can p roduce a socially useful cfiFoc t
o nly under this c^dition. ’**’ . ^ ‘ .

The result of this chapter is this there exists a social solidar- \
if^which comes from a certain number of Sates of conscience
which are common to all the members of the same society
(This is what repressive law materially represents, at least in
so far as it is essential. The part that it plays in the general
i ntegration of so ciety evidently depends upon the greater or
l esser extent of the s ocial li fe whi ch the common consc ience
embraces and r egula tes. The greater the diversity of relations
wherein the latter makes its action felt, the more also it creates
links which attach the individual to the group ; the more, con-
sequently, social cohesion derives completely from this source
and bears its mark. But the number of these relations is itself
proportional to that of the repressive rules. In determining
what fraction of the juridical system penal law represents, we,
at the same time, measure the relative importance of this soli-
darity. It is true that in such a procedure we do not take into
account certain elements of the collective conscience which,
because of their smaller power or their indeterminateness, remain
foreign to repressive law while contributing to the assurance of

In saying that punishment, such as it is, has a raison d'Hre, we do not intend
to suggest that it is perfect and incapable of betterment. It is very evident, on
the contrary, that having been produced, in great part, by very mechanical
causes, it can be but very imperfectly adjusted to its role. The matter is only a
question of justification in the large.

no

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

social harmony. These are the ones protected by punishments
which are merely diffuse. But the same is the case with other
parts of law. There is not one of them which is not comple-
mented by custom, and as there is no reason for supposing that
the relation of law and custom is not the same in these different
spheres, this elimination is not made at ihe risk of having to
alter the results of our comparison. / /

CHAPTER THREE

ORGANIC SOLIDARITY DUE TO THE
DIVISION OF LABOR

I

The very nature of the restitutive sanction suffices to show
that the social solidarity to which this type of law corresponds
is of a totally different kind.

^ ' What distinguishes this sanction is that it i s not expiatory.
\but consists of a simple return in state. Sufferance propor-
tionate to the misdeed is not inflicted on the one who has vio-
lated the law or who disregards it; he is simply sentenced to
comply with it..» I f certain things were done, the judge rein-
states them as they would have been. He speaks of law ; he
says nothing of punishment. Damage-interests have no pen al
character ; they are only a means of reviewing the past in
order to reinstate it, as far as possible, to its normal form.
Tarde, it is true, has tried to find a sort of civil penality in the
payment of costs by the defeated party.* But, taken in ftiis
sense, the word has only a metaphorical value. ^For punish-
ment to obtain, there would at least have to be some relation
between the punishment and the misdeed, and for that it would
be necessary for the degree of gravity of the misdeed to be
firmly established, In fact, however, he who loses the liti-
gation pays the damages even when his intentions were pure,
even when his ignorance alone was his culpability. The reasons
for this rule are different from those offered by Tarde : given
the fact that justice is not rendered gratuitously, it appears
equitable for the damages to be paid by the one who brought
them into being. Moreover, it is possible that the prospect of

* Tarde, CriminaliU comparie, p. 113.

Ill

112

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

such costs may stop the rash pleader, but that is not sufficientY
to constitute punishment. The fear of ruin which ordinarily
follows indolence or negligence may keep the negotiant active
and awake, though ruin is not, in the proper sense of the word,
the penal sanction for his misdeeds.

^Neglect of these rules is not even punished diffusely. The/
pfeader who has lost in litigation is not disgraced, his honor isj
not put in question. We can even imagine these rules being
other than they are without feeling any repugnance , j The
idea of tolerating murder arouses us, but we quite easily accept
modification of the right of succession, and can even conceive
of its possible abolition. It is at least a question which we do
not refuse to discuss, j Indeed, we admit with impunity that the
law of servitudes or that of usufructs may be otherwise organ-
ized, that the obligations of vendor and purchaser may be
determined in some other manner, that administrative functions
may be distributed according to different principles. As these
prescriptions do not correspond to any sentiment in us, and as
we generally do not scientifically know the reasons for their
existence, since this science is not definite, they have no roots
in the majority of us. jOf course, there are exceptions. We
do not tolerate the idea that an engagement contrary to custom
or obtained either through violence or fraud can bind the con-
tracting parties. Thus, when public opinion finds itself in the
presence of such a case, it shows itself less indifferent than we
have just now said, and it increases the legal sanction by its
censure. The different domains of the moral life are not
radically separated one from another; they are, rather, con-jj
tinuous, and, accordingly, there are among them marginaj|
resins where different characters are found at the same time./
However, the preceding proposition remains true in the gret^
majority of cases. t4t is prodC; that the rules with a rpsUtii-

tive Sanction eithet do not totally derive from the collerave

nscience. or are only feeble states of it. Repiessive law corre^

sponds to the heatt', th^'^ntie of the common conscienceT~laws

urelv moral are a part less central : finally, restitutiveiaw is

ORGANIC SOLIDARITY

113

born in very ex>centric regions whence iL^j^reads further. / The
more it becomes truly itself, the more removed it is.

/This characteristic is, indeed, made manifest by the manner oi
its functioning, ^^ ^hile repressive law tends to remajn diJEti^
within society, r^tifutive 1^ "^e^^ organs which are mo re
and more specialized: consular tribunals, councils of arbitra -
tionTa^rnmistr of every sort. Even in its most

general part, that which pertains to civil law, it is exercised
only through particular functionaries : magistrates, lawyers, etc.,
who have become apt in this role because of very special training
w/But , although these rules are more or less outside the colled
tive c^science, they are not interested solely in individual^
If this were so, restitutive law would have nothing in common
with social solidarity, for the relations that it regulates would
bind individuals to one another without binding them to society.
They would simply be happenings in private life, as friendly
relations are. But society is far from having no hand in this
sphere of juridical life. It is true that, generally, it does not
intervene of itself and through its own movements ; it must be
solicited by the interested parties. But, in being called forth,
its intervention is none the less the essential cog in the machine,
since it alone makes it function. It propounds the law through
the organ of its representatives.

It has been contended, however, that this role has nothing
properly social about i ^, but reduces itself to that of a conciliat or
pf private interests ; that, consequently, any individual can fill
it, and that, if society is in charge of it, it is only for commodious
reasons. But nothing is more incorrect than considering so ciety
as a sort of third-party arbitrat or. When it is led to intervene^
it is not to put to rights some individual interests. It doe^
not seek to discover what may be the most advantageous soluf
tion for the adversaries and does not propose a compromise foi*
them. Rather, it applies to the particular case which is sub-
mitted to it general and traditional rules of law. But law is^^
above all, a social thing and has a totally different object than
the interest of the pleaders. The judge who examines a request

114

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

(fcMT' (Jiyorce is not concerned with knowing whether this sepa-
"ration is truly desirable for the married parties, but rather
^.whether the causes which are adduced come under one of the
‘categories foreseen by the law.

But better to appreciate the importance of social action, we
must observe it, not only at the moment when the sanction is
applied, when the troubled relation is adjudicated, but also
when it is instituted.

It is, in effect, necessary either to establish or to modify
a number of juridical relations which this law takes care of and
which the consent of the interested parties suffices neither to
create nor to change. Such are those, notably, which concern
the state of the persons. Although marriage is a contract, the
married persons can neither form it nor break it at their pleasure.
It is the same with all the other domestic relations and, with
stronger reason, with all those which administrative law regu-
lates. ■ It is true that obligations properly contractual can be
entered into and abrogated solely through the efforts of those
'desiring them. But it must not be forgotten that, if the con-
tract has the power to bind, it is society which gives this power to
_it. Suppo^ that society did not sanction the obligations con-
tracted for. They become simply promises which foave jaa,
more than moral authority.* ' Every contract thus supposes;
IKaT behind the parties impHcated in it there is society very
ready to intervene in order to gain respect for the engagements
which have been made. ^Moreover, it lends this obligatory
force only to contracts which have in themselves a social value,
which is to say, those which conform to the rules of law. We
shall see that its intervention is sometimes even more positive.
It is present in all relations which restitutive law determines,
even in those which appear most completely private, and its
presence, though not felt, at least in normal circumstances, is
none the less essential.*

< And even this moral authority comes from eustom, which is to say, from
society.

* We must restrict ourselves to general indications, common to all the forms
of restitutive law. Otherwheres will be found (Book I, ch. vii) numerous proofs

•RGANIC SOLIDARITY

115

^ince rules with restitutive sanctions are strangers to the
conimoh" conscience, the relations that they determine are not
those which attach themselves indistinctly everywhere. „Th^at
Us to say, they are established immediately, not between the
individual and society, but between restricted, special parties in
i^ciety whom they bind. But, since society is not absent, it
imust be more or less directly interested, it must feel the reper-
cussions. Thus, according to the force with which society
feels them, it intervenes more or less concomitantly and more
or less actively, through the intermediary of special organs
charged with representing it. These relations are, then, quite
different from those which repressive law regulates, for the
•latter attach the particular conscience to the collective con-
‘science directly and without mediation ; that is, the individual
ito society.

' ^ut these relations can take two very different forms : some-
times they are negative and reduce themselves to pure absten-
tion; sometimes they are positive and co-operative. To the
two classes of rules which determine these, there correspond
two sorts of social solidauity which we must distinguish.

II

The negative relation which may serve as a type for the others
is the one which unites the thing to the person.

“ Things, to be sure, form part of society just as persons, and
they play a specific role in it. Thus it is necessary that their
relations with the social organism be determined. We may
then say that there is a solidarity of things whose nature is
quite special and translates itself outside through juridical con-
sequences of a very particular character.

-^The jurisconsults distinguish two kinds of rights: to one
they give the name real; to the oIKct, that of personal. The
right of property, thfe pledge, pertains to the first type; the

of this truth for the part of this law which corresponds to the solidarity which
the division of labor produces.

116

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

rigM of credit to the second. What characterizes real rights is
that only they give a prefe rential and successoral right. Thus,
“the right that I have in the thing deludes anyone el% from com-
ing to usurp what is mine./ If, for example, a thing has been
successively hypothecated to two creditors, the second pledge
' can in no wise restrain the rights of the first,' Moreover, if my
debtor alienates the thing in which I have a right of hsrpothe-
cation, that is in no wise attacked, but the third party is held
either to pay me or to lose what he has acquired. But for
this to come about, it is necessary that the bond of law unite
me directly and without the mediation of any other person to
the thing determinate of my juridical personality. This
privileged situation is, then, the consequence of the solidarity
proper to things. On the other hand, when the right is personal,
the person who is obligated to me can, in contracting new obliga-
tions, give me co-creditors whose right is equal to mine, and
although I may have as security all the goods of my debtor, if
he alienates them, they come out of my security and patrimony.
The reason for this is that there is no special relation between
these goods and me, but between the Mrson of their owner and
my own person.* ^

. /Thus we see what this real solidarity consists of ; it directly
links thinp to persons, but not pert^s among themselves.
Tn a strict sense, one can exercise a real right by thinking one
is alone in the world, without reference to other men. Con-
sequ'ently, since it is only through the medium of persons that
I things are integrated in society, the solidarity resulting from
jt^s integration is wholly negative. It does not lead wills to
move toward common ends, but merely makes things gravitate
around wills in orderly fashion. Because real rights are thus
' limited, they do not cause conflicts ; hostility is precluded, but
I there is no active coming together, no consensus. Suppose an
agreement of this kind were as perfect as possible ; the society

* It has sometimes been said that the quality of fatherhood, that of son, etc.
were the object of real rights. (See Ortolan, InstitiUa, I, p. 660.) But these
qualities are only abstract symbols of divers rights, some real (right of father
over fortune of his minor children, for example), others personal.

ORGANIC SOLIDARITY

117

in which it exists — if it exists alone — will resemble an im-
mense constellation where each star moves in its orbit without
concern for the movements of neighboring stars. Such soli-
darity does not make the elements that it relates at all capable
of acting together; it contributes nothing to the unity of the
social body.

^^rom the preceding, it is easy to determine what part of res-
titutive law this solidarity corresponds to ; it is the body of
re^ jights. But from the definition which has been given of
them, it comes about that the law of property is the most per-
fect example of them. In effect, the most complete relation
which can exist between a thing and a person is that which
makes the former entirely dependent upon the latter./ But this
relation is itself very complex, and the different elements which
go to make it up can become the object of many secondary real
rights as well, such as usufruct, servitudes, usage, and habitar
tion. We can then summarily say that real rights comprise the
' law of property in its different forms (literary, artistic, industrial, >
mobile, immobile) and its different modalities such as the ^
second book of the French Civil Code regulates. In addition
to this book, the Fren^law recognizes four other real rights,
but they are only auxiliary and eventual substitutes for personal
rights : these are lien, pledge, gift, and hypothecation (articles
2071-2203). It is proper to add to them all that relates to the
law of succession, wills, and, consequently, absence, since it
creates, when declared, a sort of provisory succession. In
effect, an inheritance is a thing or group of things in which the
inheriting parties or the legatees have a real right, which may bos,
acquired, ipso facto upon the decease of the owner, or may be
‘available only by judicial act, as happens with indirect heirs and ■
legatees of particular station. In all these cases, the juridical
relation is directly established, not between one person and
another, but between a person and a thing. The case is the
same with testamentary donation, which is only the exercise of
the real right which the owner has over his goods, or at least
that portion of them which are disposable.

118

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

V But there are relations of persons to persons which, though
not real, are nevertheless as negative as the preceding and
express a solidarity of the same nature.

In the first place, there are those which the exercise of actual
real rights occasion. It is inevitable that the functioning of
these should sometimes call forth the very persons of their de-
tainers. For example, when a thing is added to another, the
one who is reputedly owner of the first by that act becomes
the owner of the second ; only “he must pay to the other the.
value of the thing appropriated” (article 566). This obligation
is evidently personal. Likewise, every owner of a separating
wall who wishes to raise it must pay to the co-proprietor the
loss accruing from the change (article 658). An individual lega-
tee is obliged to address himself to the residuary legatee in order
to obtain the deliverance of the thing bequeathed, although
he may have the right to it from the, death of the testator
(article 1014). But the solidarity which these relations express
does not differ from that of which we have just been speaking.
^They have been set up only to repair or prevent an injury.
If the detainer of each real right could always exercise it with-
out ever going beyond its limits, each would remain unto him-
self, and there would be no place for any juridical commerce.
But, in fact, it endlessly happens that the different rights im-
pinge on one another so that we cannot invoke one without en-
‘croaching upon others which limit it. For instance, the thing
in which I have a right is found in someone else’s hands ; such
is the case in a legacy. In another case, I cannot enjoy my
right without harming some one else; such is the case with
certain servitudes. These relations are then necessary in re-
pairing wrong, if it has been done, or in preventing it ; but there*
is nothing positive about them. / They do not cause the people
whom they put in contact with one another to concur ; they do
(,not demand any co-operation; but they simply restore or
maintain, in the new conditions which are produced, this
negative solidarity whose circumstances have troubled its
functioning. Far from uniting, their task is rather to separate

ORGANIC SOLIDARITY

119

I what has been united through the force of things, to re-establish
the limits which have been transgressed and replace each in its
proper sphere. They are so well identified with the relations
of a thing to a person that the codifiers did not make a place
apart for them, but have treated them just as they treated real
rights. ,

Finally, the obligations which arise from a delict or quasi-
delict have exactly the same character.'' In truth, they force
each to repair the damage which his fault has caused to the
legitimate interests of another. They are thus personal, but
the solidarity to which they correspond is evidently wholly
negative, since they consist, not in serving, but in not harming.
The link whose break they sanction is altogether external.
The only difference there is between these relations and the
preceding is that, in one case, the break comes from a fault, and
in the other, from circumstances determined and foreseen by
the law. But the troubled order is the same ; it results, not in
concurrence, but in pure abstention.® Moreover, those rights
whose violation gives rise to these obligations are themselves
real, for I am owner of my body, of my health, of my honor, of
my reputation, in the same respect and in the same manner as
I own the material things which are mine.

In short, the rules relative to real rights and to personal
relations which are established in their turn form a definite
system which has as its function, not to attach different parts of
society to one another, but, on the contrary, to put them out-
side one another, to mark cleanly the barriers which separate
them. They do not correspond to a positive social link. The
very expression of negative solidarity which we have used is
not perfectly exact. It is not a true solidarity, having its own
existence and its special nature, but rather the negative side

‘ Art. 1382-1386 of the French Civil Code. — One might join together here
the articles on the repetition of the improper.

• The contracting party that fails to keep his engagements is, himself, held
to indemnify the other party. But, in this case, the damage-interests serve as
sanction with a positive link. It is not for having erred that the violator of the
contract pays, but for not having carried out the stated promise.

120

DIVISION 0# LABOR IN SOCIETY

of every species of solidarity. The first condition of total
coherence is that the parties who compose it should not inter-
fere with one another through discordant movements. But
this external accord does not make for cohesion; on the con-
trary, it supposes it. Negative solidarity is possible only
where there exists some other of a positive nature, of which
it is at once the resultant and the condition.

In effect, the rights of individuals, as much in themselves
as in things, can be determined only thanks to some compromise
and some mutual concessions, for everything which is ac-
corded to some is necessarily abandoned by the others. It has
sometimes been said that we can deduce the normal extent of
the development of the individual from the concept of human
personality (Kant), or from the notion of the individual organ-
ism (Spencer). That is possible, although the rigor of the
rationalizations may be very contestable. In any event, what
is certain is that in historical reality it is not on these abstract
considerations that the moral order has been founded. In factp
in order that man might recognize the rights of others, not
only logically, but in the practical workaday world, it was
necessary that he consent to limit his rights, and, consequently,
this mutual limitation could be made only in a spirit of agree-
ment and accord. But, if we suppose a multitude of individuate
without previous links between them, what reason could there
have been to induce them to make these reciprocal sacrifices?
The need for living in peace ? But peace by itself is not a thing
more desirable than war. War has its interest and its ad-
vantages. Have there not been some peoples and, at all times,
some individuals in whom it was a passion? The instincts to
which it responds are not less strong than those which peace
satisfies. Doubtless, fatigue can for a time put an end to
hostilities, but this bare armistice cannot be more durable
than the temporary lassitude which occasions it. The case is
even stronger in respect of the conclusions due solely to the
triumph of force ; they are as provisory and precarious as the
treaties which put an end to international wars. Men have

ORGANIC SOLIDARITY

121

need of peace only as they are already united by some tie of
sociability. In this case, the sentiments which incline them’*'
towards each other quite naturally moderate the urgings of
egoism; and, from another standpoint, the society which
envelops them, not being able to live except on condition of
not being at every instant embroiled in conflicts, urges on them,
and obliges them to make, necessary concessions.

It is true that we sometimes see independent societies agreeing
to determine their respective rights ov^er things, that is to say,t
their territories. But really, the extreme instability of these
relations is the best proof that negative solidarity cannot alon^
suffice. If today, among cultivated peoples, it seems to have
more force, if that part of international law which regulates
what we might call the real rights of European societies has
more authority than heretofore, it is because the different
nations of Europe are much less independent of one another,
because, in certain respects, they are all part of the same society,
still incoherent, it is true, but becoming more and more self-
conscious. What we call the equilibrium of Europe is a begin-
ning of the organization of this society.

It is customary to distinguish carefully justice from charity;
that is, simple respect for the rights of another from every act
which goes beyond this purely negative virtue. We see in the
two sorts of activity two independent layers of morality:
justice, in itself, would only consist of fundamental postulates ;
charity would be the perfection of justice. The distinction is
so radical that, according to partisans of a certain type of
morality, justice alone would serve to make the functioning of
social life good ; generous self-denial would be a private virtue,
worthy of pursuit by a particular individual, but dispensable
to society. Many even look askance at its intrusion into public
life. We can see from what has preceded how little in accord
with the facts this conception is. ■ In reality, for men to recog-
nize and mutually guarantee rights, they must, first of all, love
each other, they must, for some reason, depend upon each
other and on the society of which they are a part. Justice

122 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

is full of charity, or, to employ our expressions, negative solidai^>
ity is only an emanation from some other solidarity ^hose
nature' is'pdative. It is the repercussion in the spheri'oFfeal
rights of social sentiments which come from another source.
There is nothing specific about it, but it is the necessary ac-
companiment of every type of solidarity. It is met with force-
fully wherever men live a common life, and that comes from
the division of social labor or from the attraction of like for likea..

Ill

If, from restitutive law, we take away the rules of which
we have just spoken, what remains constitutes a system, no
less definite, which comprises domestic law, contract-law,
commercial law, procedural law, administrative law, and con-
stitutional law. The relations which are regulated by it are of
a totally different character from the preceding ones; they
express a positive, imion, a co-operation which deriYes,_m es-
sentials, from the division of labor.

The questions which domestic law resolves can be put under
two headings :

1. How are the different domestic functions assigned?
What is it to be a husband, a father, a legitimate child, a
guardian?

2. What is the normal type for these functions and their
relations?

It is to the first of these questions that the dispositions
respond which determine the qualities and conditions required
to contract marriage, the necessary formalities for the validation
of marriage, the conditions of legitimate filiation, natural and
adoptive, and the manner in which a guardian must be chosen.

It is, on the other hand, to the second question that the
chapters respond which govern the respective rights and duties
of the couple, the state of their relations in case of divorce,
annulment of marriage, separation from bed and board, the
'pairia potestas, the effects of adoption, the administration of
guardianship and its relation with the ward, the role of the

ORGANIC SOLIDARITY

123

family council as against the first and the second, and the role
of the relatives in cases of interdiction and judicial counsel.
\^Thus this part of civil law has for its object the determi-
nation of the manner in which the different familial functions
are distributed, and what they ought to be in their mutual-
relations; that is to say, it expresses the particular solidarity
which unites the members of a family in accordance with tha-
division of domestic labor, y It is true that we are not accus-
tomed to view the family in this light. We believe, most often,
that what brings about its cohesion is exclusively the commu-
nity of sentiments and beliefs. There are, to be sure, so many
things common to members of the familial group that the
special character of tasks which devolve upon each of them
easily escapes us. That is what made Comte say that the
domestic union excluded “all thought of direct and continuous
co-operation to a definite goal.” ^ But the juridical organization
of the family, of which we have just related the essential lines,
shows the reality of these functional differences and their im-
portance. The history of the family, from its very origins, is
only an uninterrupted movement of dissociation in the course of
which diverse functions, at first undivided and confounded one
with another, have been little by little separated, constituted
apart, apportioned among the relatives according to sex, age, re-
lations of dependence, in a way to make each of them a special
functionary of domestic society.® Far from being only an acces-
sory and secondary phenomenon, this division of familial labor,
on the contrary, dominates the entire development of the family.

The relation of the division of labor to contractrlaw.ia. not,
less distin ct. !,

f In effecti^ the_cpntract is, por exceZZence, the juridical ex4
- pression of co-oper ation. There are, to be sure, contracts of
Hbenevolence, where only one of the parties is bound. If I
give something unconditionally to somebody else, if I gratui-

’ Cours de philosophie positive, IV, p. 419.

* For further consideration on this point, see Book I, ch. vii of this work.

124

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

tously take upon myself a trust or a commission, there result
precise and determined obligations which I must perform.
Properly speaking, however, there is no union between the con-
tracting parties, since there are duties on one side only. But
co-operation is not absent from the case ; it is merely gratuitous
oFunilateral. What is a gift, for example, but an exchange
without reciprocal obligations? These types of contracts are,
then, only a variety of contracts truly co-operative.

Moreover, they are very rare, for it is very exceptional for
acts of kindness to come under legal surveillance. As for the
other contracts, which constitute the great majority, the obli-
gations to which they give rise are correlative or reciprocal
obligations, or events already effectuated. The involvement
of one party results either from involvement assumed by the
other, or from some service already rendered by the latter.®
But this reciprocity is possible only where there is co-operation,
and that, in its turn, does not come about without the division.
' of labor. To co-operate, in short, is to participate in a common
task. If this is divided into tasks qualitatively similar, but
mutually indispensable, there is a simple division of labor of
the first degree. If they are of a different character, there is a
compound division of labor, specialization properly called.

This latter form of co-operation is, moreover, in great part,
that which contract most generally expresses. The only one
which has any other signification is the contract of society, and
perhaps also the marriage-contract, in so far as it determines
the contributive part of married people in the expenses of the
household. Still, for this to be so, the contract of society must
put all those associated on the same level, their shares must be
identical, and their functions the same. Such a case is never
exactly presented in matrimonial relations, in the conjugal
division of labor. Over against these rare types, let us put the
multiplicity of contracts which have as their object the ad-
justment of special, different functions to one another: con-
tracts between buyer and seller, contracts of exchange, contracts

* For example, in the case of a loan at interest.

ORGANIC SOLIDARITY

125

between employers and workers, between tenant and land-
lord, between lender and borrower, between depositary and de-
positor, between inn-keeper and traveler, between principal and
agent, between the creditor and the security of the debtor. In
general fashion, the contract is the symbol of exc hange. Thus,
■ Spencer has not without justice qualified as a physiological
contract the exchange of materials which is made at every
instant between the different organs of the living body.‘®
(Thus it is clear that exchange always presupposes some division
^ labor more or less developed. It is true that the contracts
of which we have just been speaking still have a somewhat
general character. But one must not forget that law deals
only in generalities, in the great lines of social relations, those
which are found identical in the different spheres of collective
life. Thus, each of these types of contract implies a multitude
of others, more particular, of which it is the common imprint
and which it regulates in one sweep, but where the relations
established are between very special functions. Thus, in
spite of the relative simplicity of this scheme, it suffices to
make clear the extreme complexity of the facts which it en-
compasses.

^>-^his specialization of function is, indeed, more immediately
apparent in the commercial code which regulates, pre-eminently,
the contracts special to business : contracts between commis-
sion-agent and principal, between carrier and shipper, between
the holder of a letter of exchange and the drawer, between
the owner of a ship and his creditors, between the first and the
captain and crew, between the granter of a charter and the
charterer, between the lender and the borrower in gross, be-
tween the insurer and the insured. Even here, however, there
is a large gap between the generality relative to the juridical
prescriptions and the diversity of the particular functions
whose relations they govern, as the important place given to
custom in commercial law amply proves.

>* In his work on ethics.

126 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

When the commercial code does not regulate contracts
properly speaking, it determines what certain special functions
ought to be, as those of the agent of exchange, of the broker,
of the captain, of the adjudicator in case of bankruptcy, in
order to assure the solidarity of all the parties involved in the
commercial field.

Procedural law — which takes care of criminal, civil, or com-
mercial procedure — plays the same role in the judicial scheme.
The sanctions of juridical rules of all sorts can be applied only
thanks to the interplay of a certain number of functions, of
magistrates, of defense counsel, of prosecutors, of jurors, of
plaintiffs and defendants, etc. Procedure fixes the way in
which they must come into play and relate themselves. It
announces what they must be and what part each plays in the
general life of the organ.

It seems to us that in a rational classification of juridical
rules procedural law ought to be considered only as a variety
of administrative law. We do not see any radical difference
separating the administration of justice from the rest of ad-
ministration. Whatever it may be in this view, administrative
law, properly called thus, regulates functions badly defined as
administrative, “ just as the preceding does for judicial func-
tions. It determines their normal type and their relations
either one with another, or with the diffuse functions of society.
We would only have to drop a certain number of rules which
are generally put under this rubric, because they have a penal
character.^* Finally, constitutional law does the same thing
for governmental functions.

Some may be astonished to see united in the same class
administrative and political law and what we ordinarily call

“ We are keeping the expression currently employed, but it will have to be
defined, and we do not feel in position to do that. It seems to us, in the large,
that these functions are those which are immediately placed under the action
of governmental centres. But many distinctions would be necessary.

And also those concerning the real rights of moral persons in the adminis-
trative order, for the relations they determine are negative.

ORGANIC SOLIDARITY

127

private law. But, first of all, this unification imposes itself
if we take as basis for the classification the nature of sanctions,
and it does not seem to us possible to do otherwise if we wish
to proceed scientifically. Moreover, in order completely to
separate the two sorts of law, it would be necessary to admit
that there is really a private law, whereas we believe that all
law is public, because all law is social. All the functions of
society _are socia l, as all, the functions of the organism are
organic. Economic functions have the same character as the
others. Moreover, even among the most diffuse, there are none
which are not, in greater or lesser degree, under the supervision
of action by governmental bodies. From this point of view,
there is only a difference of degree between them.

. ’ ^
^To sum up : the relations governed by co-operative law with;
r estituti ye s anct ions and the solidarity which they express,
result from the division of social labor. We have explained,
moreover, that, in general, co-operative relations do not convey
other sanctions. In fact, it is in the nature of special tasks to
escape the action of the collective conscience, for, in order for
a to be the object of c ommon sentiments^ the first con-

dition is that it be common, that is to say, that it be present
in all consciences and that all can represent it in one and the
same manner. To be sure, in so far as functions have a certain
generality, everybody can have some idea of them. But the
more specialized they are, the more circumscribed th e juimfegi*
of those cognizant of ea ch of th em. Con^guently^the xnore
marginal they are to the common conscience’ The rules which
determine them cannot have the superior force, the tran-
scendent authority which, when offended, demands expiation.
It is also from opinion that their authority comes, as is the case
with penal rules, but from an opinion localized in restricted
regions of society.

Moreover, even in the special circles where they apply and!
where, consequently, they are represented in people, they do
not correspond to very active sentiments, nor even very often

^128 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

to any tsrpe of emotional state. For, as they fix the manner
in which the different functions ought to concur in diverse
combinations of circumstances which can arise, the objects
to which they relate themselves are not always present to con-
sciences. We do not always have to administer guardianship,
trusteeship,'® or exercise the rights of creditor or buyer, etc.,
or even exercise them in such and such a condition. But the
states of conscience are strong only in so far as they are per-
manent. The violation of these rules reaches neither the
common soul of society in its living parts, nor even, at least not
generally, that of special groups, and, consequently, it can
determine only a very moderate reaction. All that is neces-
sary is that the functions concur in a regular manner. If
this regularity is disrupted, it behooves us to re-establish it.
Assuredly, that is not to say that the development of the division
of labor cannot be affective of penal law. There are, as we
already know, administrative and governmental functions in
which certain relations are regulated by repressive law, because
of the particular character which the organ of common con-
science and everything that relates to it has. In still other
cases, the links of solidarity which unite certain social func-
tions can be such that from their break quite general reper-
cussions result invoking a penal sanction. But, for the reason
we have given, these counter-blows are exceptional.

This law definitely plays a role in society analogous to that
played by the nervous system in the organism. The latter
has as its task, in effect, the regulation of the different functions
of the body in such a way as to make them harmonize. It thus
very naturally expresses the state of concentration at which
the organism has arrived, in accordance with the division of
physiological labor. Thus, on different levels of the animal
scale, we can measure the degree of this concentration accord-
ing to the development of the nervous system. Which is to
say that we can equally measure the degree of concentration

That is why the law which governs the relations of domestic functions is
not penal, although these functions are very general.

ORGANIC SOLIDARITY

129

at which a society has arrived in accordance with the division
of social labor according to the development of co-operative
law with restitutive sanctions. We can foresee the great
! services that this criterion wUl render us.

IV

Since negative solidarity does not produce any integration
by itself, and since, moreover, there is nothing specific about it,
we shall recognize only two kinds of positive soUdar itv w hich
are dis tinguishable by theTfoUowing qualities : ^

The first binds the individual directly to society with-
out any intermediar y. In the second, he. .depends, upon so-
ciety, because he depends upon the parts of which it is com-
Roged.

^2. ^ciety is not seen in the same aspect in the two cases.!
m the first, what we call society is a more or less organized
totality of beliefs and sentiments common to all the members
of the group : this is the collective type . On the other hand,
the society in which we are solidary in the recond instance is
a system of different, special functions which definite relations
unite. These two societies really make up only one. They
are two aspects of one and the same reality, but none the less
they must be distinguished.

#^-3. From this second difference there arises another which
helps us to characterize and name the two kinds of solidarity.

The first can be strong only if the ideas and tendencies
common to all the members of the society are greater in num-
ber and intensity than those which pertain personally to each
member. It is as much stronger as the excess is more con-
siderable. But what makes our personality is how much of
our own individual qualities we have, what distinguishes us
from others. ]] This solidarity can gr ow only in inverre ra tio tP
personality . There are in each of us, as we have said, two
c(msciences : one ^ich fs common to our group in its entirety,
\^ichj consequently, is not ourself, but society living and acting
withmTusT; the other, on the contrary, represents that in us

130

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

which is personal and distinct, that which makes us an in-
dividual.^*! Solidarity which comes from likenesses is at its
maximum when the collective conscience completely envelops
oiir whole conscience and coincides in all points with it. But,
at , that moment, our individuality is nil. It can be born only
if the community takes smaller toll of us. ^^There are, here,
two contrary forces, one ^cent ripetal, the other centrifugal,
which cannot flourish at the same time. We cannot, at one
and the same time, develop ourselves in two opposite senses.
If we have a lively desire to think and act for ourselves, we
cannot be strongly inclined to think and act as others do. If
our ideal is to present a singular and personal appearance, we
do not want to resemble everybody else. Moreover, at the
moment when this solidarity exercises its force, our personality
vanishes, as our definition permits us to say, for we are no
longer ourselves, but the collective life.

The social molecules which can be coherent in this way can'
act together only in the measure that they have no actions
of^^eif own, as the molecules of inorganic bodies. That
is why we propose to call this type of solidarity mechanic^
The term does not signify that it is produced by mechanic^
and artificial means. We call it that only by analogy to the
cohesion which unites the elements of an inanimate body, as
opposed to that which makes a unity out of the elements of a
living body, /what justifies this term is that the link which
thus unites the individual to society is wholly analogous to that
which attaches a thing to a person. The individua l conscience,
considered in this light, is a simple dependent upon the collec-
tl^'lj^e and follows all of its movements, as the possessed
object follows those of its owner. In societies wheffe this
tj^e of solidarity is highly developed, the individual does not
appear, as we shall see later. In divid u ali ty is something which
the society possesses. /Thus, in these social t3rpes, personal
ligESTare hot yet distinguished from real rights^

However, these two consciences are not in regions geographically distinct
from us, but penetrate from all sides.

ORGANIC SOLIDARITY

131

It is quite otherwise with the solidarity which the division
of labor produces. ‘ Whereas the previous type implies that
individuals resemble each other, this type presumes their
difference. |The first is possible only in so far as the individual
.personality is absorbed into the collective personality^; the
second is possible only if each one has a sphere of action which
is jpeculiar to him ; that is, a personality. ; It is necessary,
then, that the collective conscience leave open a part of the
individual conscience in order that special functions may be
established there, functions which it cannot regulate. The
more this region is extended, the stronger is the cohesion which
.results from this solidarity. In effect, on the one hand, each
one depends as much more strictly on society as labor is more
divided ; and, on the other, the activity of each is as much
more personal as it is more specialized. Doubtless, as circum-
scribed as it is, it is never completely original. Even in the
exercise of our occupation, we conform to usages, to practices
which are common to our whole professional brotherhood.
But, even in this instance, the yoke that we submit to is much
less heavy than when society completely controls us, and it
leaves much more place open for the free play of our initiative.
Here, then, the individuality of all grows at the same time as
that of its parts. Society becomes more capable of collective
movement, at the same time that each of its elements has more
freedom of movement. This solidarity resembles that which
we observe among the higher animals. Each organ, in effect,
has its special physiognomy, its autonomy. And, moreover,
the unity of the organism is as great as the individuation of
the parts is more marked. Because of this analogy, we pro-
pose to call the solidarity which is due to the division of labor,
organic.

At the same time, this chapter and the preceding furnish us
with the means to calculate the part which remains to each
of these two social links in the total common result which they
concur in producing through their different media. We know
under what external forms these two types of solidarity are

132

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

symbolized, that is to say, what the body of juridical rules which
corresponds to each of them is. Consequently, in order to
recognize their respective importance in a given social type, it
is enough to compare the respective extent of the two types of
law which express them, since law always varies as the social
relations which it governs.*®

To make these ideas precise, we develop in the following table, the classi-
fication of juridical rules which is found implicit in this chapter and the preced-
ing:

I. Rules with Organized Repressive Sanction
(A classification of these rules will be found in chapter five)

II. Rules with Restitutive Sanction Determining

Negative or Ab-
stentive Rela-
tions

Of the thing with
• the person

Of persons with
persons

Law of property in its various forms
(movable, immovable, etc.)

Various modalities of the law of
property (servitudes, usufruct, etc.)

Determined by the normal exercise
of real rights

Determined by the violation of real
rights

Positive Relations
of Co-operation

Between domestic functions

Between diffuse
economic func-
tions

Contractual relations in general
Special contracts

Of administrative
functions

Of governmental
functions

Between themselves

With governmental functions

With diffuse functions of society

Between themselves

With administrative functions

With diffuse political functions

CHAPTER FOUR

FURTHER PROOF OF THE PRECEDING

Because of the importance of the results of the preceding
investigation, it will be well, before going further, to confirm
them once more. This added verification is the more useful
in that it will give us the opportunity for establishing a law
which, while serving as proof, will also serve to clarify what
is to follow.

'^f the two types of solidarity which we have just distinguished
really have the juridical expression that we have suggested,
the preponderance of repressive law over co-operative law ought
to be just as great as the collective type is more pronounced
and as the division of labor is more rudimentary. Inversely,
commensurate with the development of individual types and
the specialization of tasks, the proportion between the two
types of law ought to become reversed. ^ The reality of this
relationship can be shown experimentally. '

I

(The more primitive societies are, the more resemblances
there are among the individuals who compose them.] ; Even
Hippocrates in his work, De Acre et Locis, had said that the
Scythians had an ethnic type, and not personal types. Hum-
boldt remarks in his Neuspanien ^ that among barbarous
peoples there is found a physiognomy peculiar to the horde
rather than individual physiognomies. And the fact has
been confirmed by a great many observers. ^‘Even as the
Romans found among the ancient Germans very great resem-
blances, so-called savages have the same effect upon a civilized
> I. p. 116 .

133

134

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

European. In truth, the lack of experience may often be the
principal cause which determines such a judgment from a
traveller ; . . . however, this inexperience could hardly produce
this result if the differences to which civilized man is accus-
tomed in his natal environment were not really more important
than those that he meets with among primitive peoples. Well-
known and often cited is the phrase of Ulloa that one who has
seen an aboriginal American has seen all aboriginal Americans.” *
On the other hand, among civilized peoples, two individuals are
distinguishable from each other at a glance, and no preparation
is needed for such an observation.

Dj^^bon has been able to establish in objective fashion
thisRom^eneity growing proportionally as one goes back to
origins. He has compared the crania indigenous to different
races and different societies, and has found “that the differences
in cranial volume existing among individuals of the same race
. . . are as great as the race is more elevated in the scale of
civilization. After grouping the cranial volumes of each race
in progressive series, being careful to establish comparisons
only in series numerous enough for the terms to be reliable in
gradual fashion, I have found that the difference in volume
between the greatest male adult cranium and the smallest is
roughly 200 cubic centimeters in the case of the gorilla, 280 in
the case of the pariahs of India, 310 among the Australians, 350
among the ancient Egyptians, 470 in the case of twelfth-century
Parisians, 600 among modern Parisians, and 700 among the
Germans.” * There are even some peoples where the dif-
ferences are non-existent. “ The Andamans and the Todas
are all alike. We can almost say the same for the Greenlanders.
Five Patagonian crania that Broca has in his laboratory are
identical.” *

-^There is no doubt that the organic likenesses correspond to
psychic likenesses. “It is certain,” says Waitz; “that this
great physical resemblance of the natives derives essentially

* Waits, Anthropologie der Naturvoelker, I, pp. 75-76.

* Le9 SocUUsy p. 193. < Topinard, Anthropologie, p. 393.

FURTHER PROOF OF THE PRECEDING 135

from the absence of all strong psychic individuality, and from
the state of inferiority of intellectual culture in general/ The
homogeneity of characters (Geniuthseigenschaften) is incontest-
able in the case of negroid peoples. In upper Egypt, the slave-
trader appraises a slave according to his place~br birth and not
according to his individual character, for long experience has
taught him that the differences between individuals jof^the
same tribe are insignificant beside those which are due to race.
It is because of this that Nubas and Gallas are considered very
faithful, northern Abyssinians treacherous and perfidious,
the majority of others good domestic slaves, but not employ-
able for manual labor; those of Fertit savage and prompt in
wreaking vengeance.” ® Thus, originality is not simply very
rare there, but it has no place. Everybody professes and
practices, without demurring, the same religion ; schisms
and dissents are unknown ; they would not be tolerated. “But,
at this time, religion comprises all, extends to all.'^ It contains
in a confused mass, besides beliefs properly religious, morality,
law, the principles of political organization, and even science,
or at least what passes for it. Religion even regulates details
of private life. Consequently, to say that religious consciences
are identical there — and this identity is absolute — is to imply
that, save for the sensations pertaining to the organism and to
the states of the organism, all individual consciences are com-
posed of practically the same elements. Even sensible impres-
sions themselves do not offer great diversity, because of the
physical resemblances which individuals present.

It is a very prevalent notion, however, that civilization has
for its aim the growth of social similitudes. “As human asso-
ciations extend,” says Tarde, “the diffusion of ideas following
a regular geometric progression is more marked.” * According
ta Hale,^ it is an error to attribute to primitive peoples a cer-
tain uniformity of character, and he gives as proof the fact

* Op. cit, I, p. 77. — Cf. ibid., p. 446.

• Lois de Vimitaiion, p. 19.

^ Ethnography and philology of the United States, p. 13, Philardelphia, 1846.

136 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

that the yellow and black races of the Pacific, who live side
by side, are more sharply distinguished one from the other than
two European peoples. Indeed, are not the differences which
separate a Frenchman from an Englishman or a German less
today than heretofore ?'^n almost all European societies,
law, morality, customs, even fundamental political institu-
tions are nearly identical. We can equally notice that in the
midst of the same country we no longer find today the same
contrasts that we used to find. Social life no longer varies,
or no longer varies so much from one province to another. In
unified countries such as France, it is nearly the same in all
regions, and this levelling is at its maximum among the culti-
vated classes.*

But these facts do not weaken our position at all. Certainly
different societies tend to resemble each other more, but that
is not the same as saying that the individuals who compose
them do so. There is now less distance than heretofore between
the Frenchman and the Englishman, generally speaking, but
that does not stop the contemporary Frenchmen from differing
among themselves more than the Frenchmen of yesteryear.
Indeed, it is even true that each province tends to lose its dis-
tinctive feature, but that does not deny that each individual
partakes more and more of what is personal to him. The
Norman is less different from the Gascon, the Gascon from the
Lorrainian and the Provengal; they no longer have little in
common with the traits common to all Frenchmen, but the
diversity which the last, taken as a unit, present, continues
to grow. For, if some provincial types which used to exist
tend to merge with others and disappear, there remains, in
their place, a very considerable number of individual types.
There are no longer as many differences as there are great
regions, but there are almost as many as there are individuals.
Inversely, where each province has its personality, it is not

•That is what makes Tarde say: “The traveller who traverses several
European countries observes more differences among the classes of people who
have remained faithful to their old customs than among those of the higher
classes.” Op. dt., p. 59.

FURTHER PROOF OF THE PRECEDING 137

the same in individuals. In relation to each other, they can
be very heterogeneous, and yet be formed only of similar ele-
ments. This is the spectacle presented by political societies.
Indeed, in the biological world, the protozoans are so greatly
distinct from each other that it is impossible to classify them in
species ; ® and yet, each is composed of perfectly homogeneous
matter.

'.✓T'his opinion reposes, then, on a confusion of individual
types and coUectiye types, as provincial or national. It is
surely true that civilization tends to render the second nuga-
tory, but we wrongly conclude that it has the same effect upon
the first, and that the uniformity becomes general. Far from
the two types varying with each other, we shall see that the
effacement of one is the necessary condition for the appearance
of the other.'® But there is never more than a restricted
number of collective types in the midst of the same society,
for it can comprise only a small number of races and regions
different enough to produce such dissimilarities. On the other
hand, individuals are susceptible to infinite diversification.
The diversity is as great as the individual types are more
highly developed.

The preceding likewise applies to occupational types. There
are reasons for believing that theyl ose th eir old distinction,
that the chasm which used to separate occupations, and par-
ticularly certain of them, is in process of being filled in. But
what is certain is that in the interior of each occupation the
differences are growing. Each individual is more and more
ac^iring his own way of thinking and acting, and submits
le ss com pletely to the common corporate opinion. Moreover,
if, from occupation to occupation, the differences are less marked,
they are*, in any case, more numerous, for occupational types
have themselves been multiplied as labor has come to be more
and^ more~drvided. If they no longer distinguish themselves

• See Perrier, Tranaformisme, p. 235.

“ See below, Book II, chs. ii and iii. — What we say there can segg e a |||^0
same time to explain and confirm the facts that we are here estabprin&g.

138 DIVISION OF LABOR SOCTOY

from one another except through slight differences of emphasis,
at least the emphases are more varied. The diversity is not,
then, even from this point of view, less, although it may no
longer manifest itself through violent and sharp contrasts.

We can rest assured, then, that the more one goes back in
history, the greater the homogeneity. On the other hand,
the further one approaches to the highest social types, the
greater the development of the division of labor. Let us now
see how the two forms of law that we have distinguished vary
in different steps of the social scale.

II

I

-As far as we can judge of the state of law in very inferior
societies, it appears to be entirely repressive. “ The savage .'’ ,
says Lubbock, “js in no partr.-.4cee- Throughout the entire
world, the daily life of the savage is regulated by a number of
customs (as imperious as laws), complicated and very im-
portunate, of prohibitions and interdictions. Numerous severe
rules, although not written, encompass all the acts of his life.”
We know, of course, the extreme facility, among primitive
peoples, with which ways of acting become transformed into
traditional practices, and how great among them the force of
tradition is. Ancestral customs are granted respect in such
' degree that their derogation leads to punishment.

But such observations necessarily lack precision, for nothing
is as difficult to comprehend as these undulating customs.
For our investigation to be conducted methodically, we must
carry it, as far as possible, into the region of written laws.

The fo ur last books of the Pentateuch, Exodus, Leviticus,
NunX^, Devieronomy, represent the oldest monument of this
kind that we have.*® In these four or five thousand verses,

Lubbock, Lbb OrigineB de la civilisaJlion, p. 440. Cf. Spencer, PrindpleB of
Sociology, p. 435.

We do not have to give our opinion on the real antiquity of the work — it is
sufficient that it refer to a society of very inferior type — nor on the relative
antiquity of the parts which compose it, for, from our point of vi^w, they present
the same character. We think of them as one.

proof of the preceding 139

there is a rel ativjel y smal l number wherein laws which can
rigorously be called btKer\han repressive are set down. They
relate to the following objects :

Law of property: Law of redemption; Jubilee; — Property of the Levites
{Leviticus, xxv, 14-25, 29-34, and xxvii, 1-34).

Domestic law: Marriage {Deuteronomy, xxi, 11-14; xxiii, 5; xxv, 5-10;
Leviticus, xxi, 7, 13, 14) ; Law of succession {Numbers, xxvii, 8-11 and
xxvi, 8; Deuteronomy, xxi, 15-17); — Enslavement of natives and
foreigners {Deuteronomy, xv, 12-17; Exodus, xxi, 2-11; Leviticus, xix,
20; xxv, 39-44; xxxvi, 44-54).

Loans and wages: {Deuteronomy, xv, 7-9; xxiii, 19-20; xxiv, 6 and
10-13; xxv, 15).

Quasi-delicts: {Exodus, xxi, 18-33 and 33-35; xxii, 6 and 10-17).^*
Organization of public functions: Functions of priests {Numbers, x) ; of
Levites {Numbers, iii and iv); of Elders {Deuteronomy, xxi, 19; xxii,
15; xxv, 7; xxi, 1; Leviticus, iv, 15); of Judges {Exodus, xviii, 25;
Deuteronomy, i, 15-17).

Restitutive law — co-operative law in particular — holds a
very minor position. Moreover, among the rules that we have
just cited, many are not as foreign to penal law as appears at
first glance, for they all bear the mark of religion. They all
come, in the sanTe degree, from the divinity ; to violate them
is to offend the divinity, and such offenses are sins which must
be expiated. The Testament does not distinguish between
commandments, but all of them consist of divine words which
cannot be disobeyed with impunity. ‘4f thou wilt not observe
to do all the words of this law that are written in this book,
that thou mayest fear this glorious and fearful name. The
Lord Thy God; Then the Lord will make thy plagues won-
derful, and the plagues of thy seed, even great plagues, and
of long continuance, and sore sicknesses, and of long con-
tinuance.'^ The failure, even through error, to follow some
precept, constitutes a sin and demands expiation.^® Some
threats of this kind, about whose penal nature there can be

IS All of the verses here brought together (less those referring to public func-
tions) number 135.

Deuteronomy, xxviii, 58-59. — Cf. Numbers, xv, 30-31.

IS Leviticus, iv.

140

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

no doubt even directly sanction some of the rules that we
have attributed to restitutive law. After deciding that a
divorced woman could not be taken back by her husband, if,
after remarriage, she obtained another divorce, the text adds :
“For that is abomination before the Lord: and thou shall not
cause the land to sin, which the Lord thy God giveth thee for
an inheritance.” Moreover, there is the verse in which the
manner that wages ought to be paid is regulated: “At his
day thou shalt give him his hire, neither shall the sun go down
upon it ; for he is poor, and setteth his heart upon it : lest he
cry against thee unto the Lord, and it be sin unto thee.” The
indemnities which quasi-delicts give rise to are equally pre-
sented as veritable expiations. Thus we read in Leviticus:
“And he that killeth any man shall surely be put to death.
And he that killeth a beast shall make it good ; beast for beast
. . . breach for breach, eye for eye, tooth for tooth.”
Reparation for damage caused seems to be assimilated into
punishment for murder and to be regarded as an application
of the lex talionis.

It is true that there is a certain number of precepts whose
sanction is not specifically indicated ; but we already know that
it is certainly a penal sanction. The nature of the expressions
employed is sufficient proof of this. Moreover, tradition
Reaches us that a corporal punishment was inflicted upon those
who violated a negative precept, when the law did not formally
stipulate such punishment.** In brief, in varying degree,_fljl
Hebrew law, such as we find it in the Pentateuch, bears an
essential^ repressive stamp. This is more marked in some
spots, more latent Ifi others, but its presence is felt everywhere.
Because all the prescriptions that it lays down are command-
ments from God, placed, so to speak, under his direct suzerainty,
they all owe to this origin an extraordinary prestige which
renders them sacrosanct. Thus, when they are violated,

Deuteronomy, xxiv, 4. ” Deuteronomy, xxv, 16. xxiv, 17, 18, 20.

See Munck, Palestine, p. 216. — Selden, De Synedriis, pp. 889-903, enu-
merates, following Maimonides, all the precepts which fall into this category.

FURTHER PROOF OF THE PRECEDING 141

public conscience does not content itself with a simple repara-
tion, but demands expiation which avenges it. Since what
gives penal law its peculiar character is the extraordinary
authority of the rules which it sanctions, and since men have
never known nor imagined any authority higher than that
which the believer vests in God, law which is agreed to be the
^rd of God himself cannot fail to be essentially repressive.
We have even been able to say that all penal law is more or
less religious, for its very soul is the sentiment of respect for a
force superior to the individual man, for a power in some way
transcendent, under some symbol which it makes penetrate
into consciences, and this sentiment is also at the basis of all
religiosity. That is why, in general fashion, repression domi-
nates all law in lower societies. It is because religion completely
pervades juridical life, as it does, indeed, all social life.^
Indeed, this character is still very marked in the laws of
Manou. We have only to look at the high rank accorded
criminal justice in the system of national institutions. “To
help the King in his duties,” says Manou, “God made him
the guiding genius of punishment, the protector of all living
/beings, the administrator of justice, his very son, whose essence
is wholly divine. It is the fear of punishment which makes
all mobile and immobile creatures do their duty and accomplish
their tasks . . . Punishment rules humanity; punishment
protects humanity. Punishment works while the world
sleeps; punishment is justice, say the wise men. . . . All
classes would be tom asunder, all barriers would be broken,
there would be only confusion in the universe if punishment
no longer held its sway.”

■^The law of the Twelve Tables refers to a society already
much more advanced,**^ and much nearer to us, than was the

Loi 8 de Manou, trans. Loiseleur, VII, v. 14-24.

In speaking of one social type as being more advanced than another, we do
not mean to suggest that the different social types are stages in one and the same
ascending linear series, more or less elevated according to their historical places.
It is, rather, certain that, if the genealogical table of social types could be com-
pletely drawn up, it would resemble a tufted tree, with a single trunk, to be sure,

142

DIVISION* OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

Hebrew. The proof of this is that Roman society arrived at
the city-type only after passing through the stage of society
at which the Jews remained fixed, and going beyond it. We
shall have further proof of this later.“ Moreover, other facts
serve as evidence for this short advance. First of all, we find
in the law of the Twelve Tables all the principal germs of our
actual law, whereas there is nothing common between Hebraic
law and our law.*® ( Accordingly, the law of the Twelve Tables
is absolutely laicj If in primitive Rome some legislators such
as Numa were thought to have received their inspiration from
heaven, and if, accordingly, law and religion were then in-
timately linked, this alliance was certainly terminated at the
'time when the Twelve Tables were drawn up, for this juridical
pionument has been presented from its very inception as a
wholly human work supervising only human relations. We
find there some few dispositions concerning religious ceremonies,
but they seem rather to partake of the quality of sumptuary
laws. This more or less complete state of dissociation which
we find between law and religion is one of the best signs by which
we can recognize whether a society is more or less developed
than another.*^

Thus, criminal law no longer occupies the whole field. The
rules sanctioned by punishments and those which have only
restitutive sanctions are now very distinct from each other.
Restitutive law is separated from repressive law which for-
merly absorbed it; it now has its own characteristics, its
peculiar structure, its own individuality. It exists as a dis-
tinct juridical species, with special organs, and a special pro-
cedure. Co-operative law itself makes its appearance. We

but with diverging branches. However, in spite of this tendency, the distance
between two types is measurable ; they are higher or lower. Surely we have the
right to say of a type that it is above another when it began with the form of the
latter and yet has gone above it. Such is certainly the case with a more elevated
branch or bough.

** See Book I, ch. vi, 2.

^ Contract4aw, the law of wills, guardianship, adoption, etc. are things
unknown in the Pentateuch.

** Cf. Walter, op. cit., §§ 1 and 2 ; Voigt, Die XII Tafeln, I, p. 43.

FURTHER PROOF OF THE 'PRECEDING 143

find in the Twelve Tables a domestic law and a contract-
law.

1 Penal law, however, while losing its primitive preponderance,
stiir remains greaU lii“the 115 fragments of this law which
Voigt &as collated, there are only 60 which can be called resti-
tutive; 49 have a distinct penal accent.-® Consequently,
penal law is not far from occupying half of the code that has
come down to us. Moreover, what we have left can give us
only a very incomplete idea of the importance which repressive
law had at the time it was drawn up. F or there are parts which
were devoted to this type of law which must have been the most
easily lost. It is to the jurisconsults of the classical epoch
that we owe, almost e.xclusively, the redemption of the frag-
ments, but they were much more interested in the problems
of civil law than in those of criminal law. The latter does not
easily lend itself to the delicious controversies which have
always occupied the attentions of jurists. This general in-
difference towards it must have shrouded in darkness a good
part of the ancient penal law of Rome. Moreover, even the
authentic, complete text of the law of the Twelve Tables cer-
tainly did not contain all of it. For it spoke neither of re-
ligious crimes, nor domestic crimes, which were each judged
by particular tribunals, nor of offenses against custom. We
must take account, too, of the delay which penal law encounters
in being codified. As it is engraven in all consciences, men do
not see the need of writing it down in order to make it known.
For all these reasons, we have the right to presume that, even
in the fourth century in Rome, penal law still represented the
greater part of juridical rules.

This preponderance is still more certain and evident if we
compare it, not to all restitutive law, but only to that part
of this law which corresponds to organic solidarity. At this
time, there is small evidence that domestic law is already very
advanced. Procedure, being cumbersome, is neither varied

** Ten (which are sumptuary laws) make no express mention of a sanction,
but there is no doubting their penal character.

144

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

nor complex. Contract-law is only just being bom. “The
small number of contracts which ancient law recognizes,” says
Voigt, “contrasts in most striking fashion with the multitude
of obligations which arise from the delict.” As for public
law, besides still being very simple, it has, in large part, a penal
character because it bears a religious stamp.

Beginning with this epoch, repressive law loses its relative
importance. On the one hand, even supposing that it has not
regressed in a great number of instances, that many acts
which in origin were regarded as criminal had not ceased to be
punished — and the contrary is certain for what concerns
religious delicts — at least it has not perceptively grown.
We know that from the time of the Twelve Tables the principal
criminological types of Roman law were settled. On the other
hand, contract-law, procedure, public law, were further and
further extended. As we advance, we see the infrequent and
meager formulas that the law of the Twelve Tables comprised
on these different points developing and multiplying until
they became the voluminous systems of the classical epoch.
Domestic law itself becomes complicated and diversified, as
to primitive civil law there is added, little by little, praetorian
law.

The history of Christian society offers us another example
of the same phenomenon. Maine had already conjectured
thal^ in compa ring the different primitive laws, we would find
the place of penal law to be_as great as the societies were an-
cient.^^~ The facts confirm this assumption.

“^The Salic law relates to a society less developed than was
Rome in the fourth century. For although, as the latter, it had
advanced beyond the social type at which the Hebrew people
stopped, it was, however, less completely advanced. The traces
are very much apparent, as we shall show later. Hence, penal
law had a much greater importance there. In the 293 articles
of which the text of the Salic law is composed, as Waitz has

XII Tafeln, II, p. 448. ” Ancient Law,

FURTHER PROOF OF THE PRECEDING 145

edited it,** there are only 25 (about 9%) which do not have a
repressive character. They are those which relate to the con-
stitution of the Frankish family .‘■‘9 Contract has not yet been
divorced from penal law, for the refusal to execute the con-
tractual engagement on the fixed day is subject to a penalty.
Still the Salic law contains only a part of the penal law of the
Franks, since it concerns only the crimes or the delicts for which
a settlement is permitted. But there were certainly some which
could not be bought off. If we consider that the Lex contained
not one word about crimes against the State, nor about military
crimes, nor religious crimes, then the preponderance of repressive
law will appear even more considerable.’®

There is already less repressive law in the law of the Burgun-
dians which is more recent. In 31 1 articles, we have counted 98,
that is, nearly one-third, which have no penal character. But
this growth takes place particularly in domestic law, which is
complicated in its relation to the law of things as well as its
relation to the law of persons. Contract-law is not much more
developed here than in the Salic law.

Finally, the law of the Visigoths, which is still more recent,
and which concerns a still more cultivated people, evinces new
progress in the same direction. Although penal law still pre-
dominates here, restitutive law has almost equal importance.
We find here, in fact, a complete code of procedure (Books I and
II), a matrimonial and domestic law already highly developed
(Book III, i and vi ; Book IV). Finally, for the first time, a
whole book, the fifth, is devoted to business transactions.

The absence of codification does not permit us to observe with
the same precision this double development in all the course of
our history, but it is incontestable that it followed the same
direction. From this epoch, in fact, the juridical catalogue of
crimes and delicts is already very complete. On the other hand,
domestic law, contract-law, procedure, public law, are developed

** Das Alte Recht der ScUischen Franken, Kiel, 1846.

Tit. xliv, xlv, xlvi, lix, lx, Ixii.u

Cf. Thonissen, Procedure de la loi saliquBy p. 244.

146

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

without interruption, and it is thus that the relation between the
two parts of law that we have compared is finally found reversed.

Repressive law and co-operative law vary, then, exactly as the
theory, which finds itself thus confirmed, foresaw. It is true
that this predominance of repressiv^law in lower societies has
sometimes been attributed to some other cause. It has been
explained “by the habitual violence in the societies which begin
to write their laws. The legislator has divided his work in pro-
portion to the frequency of certain accidents of barbarous life.”
Maine, who gives this explanation, does not find it complete.
In reality, it is not only incomplete ; it is false. First of all, it
makes law an artificial creation of the legislator, since it would
have been instituted to contradict public customs and react
against them. But such a contention is today no longer tenable.
La w expre sses customs, and if it acts against them, it is with_a
force that it Jia,s borrowed from them. Where acts of violence
are frequent, they are tolerated ; their delictuous character is in
inverse proportion to their frequency. Thus, among lower
peoples, crimes against persons are more ordinary than in
civiUzed societies. Thus, they are in the last degree of the penal
scale. We can almost say that the attacks are as severely
punished as they are rare. Moreover, what makes the state of
penal law plethoric is not that our crimes today are the object
of more extended provisions, but there exists a luxuriant crimi-
nality, peculiar to those societies, and which their pretended
violence cannot account for: delicts against religious faith,
against ritual, against ceremonial, against traditions of all sorts,
etc. The real reason for this development of repressive rules is
that at this moment ip the evolutionary scheme the collective-
co nsci^ce is extensive, and strong, since labor has not vet been
divided.

These principles having been set up, the conclusion fof(hwp|i
emerges from them.

Ancient Law,

CHAPTER FIVE

PROGRESSIVE PREPONDERANCE OF ORGANIC
SOLIDARITY; ITS CONSEQUENCES

I

It is enough to take a bird's-eye view of our Codes to see
what a reduced place repressive law occupies in comparison with
co-operati^Taiw. What is the former along side of the vast
system formed by domestic law, contract-law, commercial law,
etc.? The totality of relationships which come under penal
regulation represent only the smallest fraction of general life;
and, consequently, the ties which bind us to society and which
come from the community of beliefs and sentiments are much
less numerous than those which result from the division of labor.

It is true, as we have already remarked, that the common con-
science and the solidarity which it produces are not entirely ex-
pressed by penal law. The former creates other ties than those
whose break it punishes. There are some weaker and vaguer
states of the collective conscience which make their action felt
through the intermediary of custom, public opinion, without any
legal sanction attaching to them, and which, moreover, con-
tribute to the strength of social cohesion. But neither does
co-operative law express all the links which the division of labor
brings about, for it likewise gives us only a schematic repre-
.^ntation from every part of life. In a multitude of cases, the
relations of mutual dependence which unite the divided functions
aye |^^b.ted only by usage, and these unwritten rules certainly
in number those which are projections of repressive law,
for they must be as diverse as the social functions themselves.
The relation between them is, then, the same as that between
the two types of law which they complement, and consequently,

147

148

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

we can disregard them without modifying the calculated re-
sult^

If, however, we were to state this relation only in our actual
societies and at the precise moment of their history at which we
have arrived, one might think that it was due to temporary or,
perhaps, pathological causes. But ^e have just seen that the
closer a social type approaches ours, the more dominant co-
operative law becomes. On the other hand, penal law has a
greater place the further removed it is from our present organi-
zation. It is thus that this phenomenon is linked, not to some
accidental and more or less morbid cause, but to the structure of
our societies in their very essentials, since it develops further as
the structure becomes more determined. Thus, the law that we
established in our preceding chapter is doubly useful. Besides
confirming the principles upon which our conclusion rests, it
permits us to establish the generality of this conclusion,
i But from this comparison alone we cannot yet deduce what
part organic solidarity plays in the general cohesion of society.
In effect, what makes the individual more or less strictly at-
Whed to his group is not only the greater or lesser multiplicity
^f the points of attachment, but also the variable intensity of the
lorces which hold him attached there. Accordingly, the ties
^which result from the division of labor, while being more nmner-
0U8, would be weaker than the others, and the superior force of
the latter would compensate, for their numerical inferiority.

Mongols abandon their chief when they find his authority
oppressive, and pass on to others. The Abipones leave their

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 149

chief without asking his permission and without incurring his
displeasure, and they migrate with their family wherever they
please.^ In South Africa the Balondas migrate ceaselessly from
one part of the country to the other. MacCulloch noticed the
same phenomenon among the Koukis. Among the Germans
every man who loved fighting could place himself under the
military command of a chief of his own choosing. “Nothing
was more ordinary and nothing seemed more legitimate. A
man would arise in mid-assembly ; he would announce that he
was going to make an expedition to some place, against some
enemy. Those who had confidence in him and who desired
booty acclaimed him as their chief and followed him. . . . The
social tie was too weak to hold men back from the temptations
of a life of wandering and gain.” * W aitz, i n speaking generally
of lower societies, says that, even 'where a directive power is
established, each individual retains enough independence so that
he may, at any moment, separate from his chief, “and rise up
against him, if he is powerful enough for that, without such an
act being considered criminal.” * Even where the government
is a despotism, says the same author, each man always has the
liberty to secede with his family. Would not the rule according
to which the Roman, made prisoner by the enemy, ceased to be
part of the city, also be explained by the facility with which the
social tie could be broken ?

s, It is quite otherwise as labor becomes divided. The different '
^arts of the aggregate, because they fill different functions, can-
not easily be separated. In the words of Spencer, if we'
separated from Middlesex its surrounding district, all operations
would cease in a few days, due to shortage of materials. Sepa-
rate the district where cotton is manufactured from Liverpool
and other centres, and industry ceases, since the population will
perish. Separate the mining populations from the neighboring
populations which found metal or make clothing by machinery,

^ Prindplea of Sociology, III, p. 381.

* Fustel de Coulanges, Histoire dee Institutions politigues de Vandenne Frunce,
Part I, p. 352.

’ AfUhropologie, etc., Part I, pp. 359-360.

150

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

and they would die socially, since they would die individually.
Of course, when a civilized society undergoes a division such that
one of its parts lives deprived of a central agency exercising its
authority, it will not delay in setting up another, but it runs
great risk of dissolution, and before reorganization reconstitutes
a sufficient authority, it is exposed, for some time, to disorder
and weakness.'* It is for this reason that violent annexations,
otherwise so frequent, more and more become delicate opera-
tions with uncertain success, ' ^day, t o detach a province from
a countiQr js to detach one o r .several organs of , an organism.
The life of the annexed region is profoundly troubled, separated
as it is from the essential organs upon which it depends ; but
such mutilations and such troubles necessarily determine dur-
able grief whose memory is not effaceable. Even for an isolated
individual, it is not an easy thing to change nationalities, in
snite of the very great likeness between different civilizations.®,
opposite fact would not be less manifest. The more feeble
smidarity is, that is to say, the more the social tie is loosened,
the easier it ought to be for foreign elements to become part of
.societies. But, among lower peoples, naturalization is the most
simple process in the world. Among the Indians of North
America, every member of the clan has the right to introduce
new members into it with a view to adopting them. Captives
taken in war are either put to death or adopted into the clan.
The women- and children-prisoners are usually the object of
clemency. Adoption does not confer only the tribal rights
(clan-rights), but even the nationality of the tribe.® We know
how easily Rome, in its early days, accorded the right of citizen-
ship to homeless and conquered peoples.^ It is particularly by
such incorporations that primitive societies' grow. For them to
be thus penetrable, there could not be a very strong sense of

* Principles of Sociology, II, p.ls^ , i

'We shall even see, in Chapter v II, ihat*the tie which binds the individual
to his family is just as strong, more difficult to break, as domestic labor is more
divided.

' Morgan, Anrienl Society, p. 80.

^ Dionysius of Halicarnassus, I, 9. — Cf. Accarias, Pricis de droit romain, I,

( 61 .

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 161

their own unity or their own personality.* The contrary phe-
nomenon is observable where functions are specialized. The
stranger, no doubt, can be provisionally introduced into the
society, but the process by which he is assimilated and natural-
ized is long and complex. It is no longer possible without assent
from the group, solemnly made manifest and brought about
under special conditions.*!

It may appear astonishing that a tie which binds the individ-
ual to the community by absorbing him into it can be broken
or made with such facility. But what makes a social tie rigid is
not what gives it resistive force. Because the parts of the aggre-
gate, when united, only move together, it does not follow that
they are obhged either to remain united or to perish. On the
contrary, since they do not need each other, as each contains
within himself all that social life consists of, he can go and carry
it elsewhere. This can be done so much the more easily when
the secessions are made by bands, for the individual is then
constituted in such a way that he can only move with a band,
even in order to separate himself from his group. On_hs part,
society demands from each of its members, in so far as they are
part of it, a uniformity of beliefs and practices. But as It* can
lose a certain number of its members without the economy of
its internal life being disturbed, because social work is very little
divided, it does not strongly oppose these departures. Indeed,
where solidarity derives solely from resemblances, whoever does
not deviate too much from the collective type is, without op-
position, incorporated into the aggregate. There are no reasons
for opposing him, and, indeed, if there are places vacant, there
is good reason for accepting him. But where society is made up
of a system of differentiated parts which mutually complement
each other, new elements cannot be grafted upon the old without

* This fact is not at all irreconcilable with the fact that, in these societies, the
stranger is an object of repulsion. He inspires such sentiments in so far as he
remains a stranger. What we are saying is that he easily drops this stranger-
quality in becoming naturalized.

• We shall see, in Chapter VII, that the intrusions of strangers into familial
society are as easily made as domestic work is less divided.

152

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

upsetting this equilibrium, without altering these relationships,
tSH, accordingly, the organism resists intrusions which cannot
produce any thing but disturbance . )

II

I Not only, in a general way, does mechanical solidarity link
men less strongly than organic solidarity, but also, as we advance
‘in the scale bfsoclal evolution, it grows ever slacker. ,

/ The force of social links which have this origin ■irary with
^respect to tfieTSfee" following' condittonsl
^ 1. The relation between the volume of the common con-
science and that of the individual conscience. The links are
as strong as the first more completely envelops the second.

'~12. The average intensity of the states of the collective con-
science. The relation between volumes being equal, it has as
Ihuch power over the individual as it has vitality. If, on the
other hand, it consists of only feeble forces, it can but feebly
influence the collective sense. It will the more easily be able to
pursue its own course, and solidarity will be less strong.

3. The greater or lesser determination of these same states.
That is, the more defined beliefs and practices are, the less place
they leave for individual divergencies. They are uniform moulds
into which we all, in the same manner, couch our ideas and our
actions. The consensus is then as perfect as possible ; all con-
sciences vibrate in unison. Inversely, the more general and
indeterminate the rules of conduct and thought are, the more
individual reflection must intervene to apply them to particular
cases. But it cannot awaken without upheavals occurring, for,
as it varies from one man to another in quality and quantity,
eversrthing that it produces has the same character. Centrif-
ugal tendencies thus multiply at the expense of social cohesion
and the harmony of its movements.

On the other hand, s trong and d efined states of the coupon
conscien.ce.J%re the roots of J)enff]^w7~ 5ut we are going to ^
that the number of tlmse is less today than heretofore, ^j^tEat,
it diminishgs, progressively^ ae wraetiesappro^K buFsbe type^

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 153

It is thus that the average intensity and the mean degree of
determination of collective states have themselves diminished.
From this fact, it is true, we cannot conclude that the total
extent of the common conscience has narrowed, for it may be
that the region to which penal law corresponds has contracted,
and that the remainder have dilated. It can have fewer strong
and defined states, and retaliate with a very great number of
others. But this growth, if it is real, is altogether equivalent to
that which is produced in the individual conscience, for the
latter has, at least, grown in the same proportions. If there are
more things common to all, there are many more that are per- '
sonal to each. There is, indeed, every reason for believing that
the latter have increased more than the former, for the differ-
ences between men have become more pronounced in so far as
they are more cultivated. We have just seen that special
activities are more developed than the common conscience. It
is, therefore, at least probable that, in each particular con-
science, the personal sphere is much greater than the other. In
any case, the relation between them has at most remained the
same." Consequently, from this point of view, mechanical
solidarity has gained nothing, even if it has not lost anything.
If, on the other hand, we discover that the collective conscience
has become more feeble and vaguer, we can rest assured that
there has been an enfeeblement of this solidarity, since, in
respect of the three conditions upon which its power of action
rests, two, at least, are losing their intensity, while the third
remains unchanged.]

vTo prove this, it would avail us nothing to compare the numl
ber of rules with repressive sanctions in different social types^
for the number of rules does not vary exactly with the senti-
ments the rules represent. The same sentiment can, in effect,
be offended in several different ways, and thus give rise to
several rules without diversifying itself in so doing. Because
there are now more ways of acquiring property, there are also
more ways of stealing, but the sentiment of respect for the^
property of another has not multiplied itself proportionally^!

154

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

Because individual personality has developed and comprehends
more aspects, there are more attacks possible against it, but the
sentiment that they offend is always the same. It is necessary
for us, then, not to number the rules, but to group them in
classes and sub-classes, according as they relate to the same
.sentiment or to different sentiments, or to different varieties of
the same sentiment. We shall thus constitute criminological
types and their essential varieties, whose number is necessarily
equal to that of strong and defined states of the common con-
science. The more numerous the la tter are, the more criminal
types there ought to Be,^nd', consequently , the varia|;ions of the
one should exactlyreilect the variations of the other, j To make
these ideas precise, we have united in the following table the
principal types and their varieties which have been found in
different kinds of society. It is quite evident that such a clas-
sification will be neither complete nor perfectly rigorous. For
the conclusion that we wish to draw, however, it has a very
sufficient exactitude. Surely it encompasses all the actual crim-
inological types ; we risk omitting only some which have disap-
peared. But as we wish to demonstrate capably the fact that
their number has diminished, these omissions add fuel to our
proposition.

Rules Forbidding Acts Contrary to Collective Sentiments

I

Religious sentiments

National sentiments

Having General Objects

[ Positive (imposing the practice of the religion)

Negative

Relative to beliefs about divinity
Relative to worship
Relative to the or- f Sanctuaries
gans of worship \ Priests
Positive (Positive civic obligations)

Negative (Treason, civil war, etc.)

‘®The sentimentB which we call positive are those which impose positive
actions, as the practice of the faith. The negative sentiments demand only absti-
nence. Between them there are only differences of degree. These differences,
however, are important, for they mark out two moments in their development.

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 155

Domestic sentiments

Sentiments relative to
sexual relations

Sentiments relative to
work

Traditional diverse sen-
timents

{ Paternal and filial
Conjugal

Of kinship in general
Negative The same

{ Incest
Sodomy
Misalliances

Prostitution
Public decency
Respect for minors
Begging
Vagabondage
Intoxication

Penal regulation of work

Relative to certain occupational usages

Relative to burial

Relative to food

Relative to dress

Relative to ceremonial

Relative to usages of all sorts

Ldse-majest^

In so far as they
are directly of-
fended

Plots against constituted
authority

Outrages, violence against
authority
Rebellion

Sentiments relative to
the organ of the com-
mon conscience

Indirectly “

Encroachment of private
individuals on public
functions
— Usurpations —

Public falsification
Impersonation of function-
< aries and diverse occu-
pational misdeeds
Frauds to the detriment of
the State

Disobedience of all sorts
(administrative contra-
ventions)

It is probable that other ideas enter into reprobation of intoxication, no-
tably the distaste which the state of degradation in which the intoxicated natu-
rally finds himself inspires.

** We put in this class the acts which owe their criminal character to the power
of reaction proper to the organ of the common conscience, at least in part. An
exact separation between these two subclasses is, however, very difficult to
make.

156

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

II

Having Individual Objects

Sentiments relative to
the person of the in-
dividual

Relative to the posses-
sions of the individual

Sentiments relative to the
mass of individuals in
respect of their per-
sons or their goods

Murder, assault — suicide

{ Physical

Moral (Pressure in the
exercise of civil rights)
Honor I Injuries calumnies

I False witness
Robbery — swindling,
abuse of confidence
Diverse frauds

Counterfeiting — bankruptcy
Arson

Brigandage — pillage
Public health

III

i

1 It is enough to glance at this table to see that a large number
of criminological types have progressively disappeared.

Today, the regulation of domestic life has almost entirely lost
all penal character. We must except only adultery and bigamy.
Still, adultery occupies a very exceptional place in the list of
crimes, since the husband has the right to excuse the condemned
wife. As for the duties of the other members of the family, they
no longer have any repressive sanction. It was not always thus.
The decalogue makes filial piety a social obligation. Thus,
assault upon a parent,** or speaking evil of a parent,** or dis-
^besdng one’s father *® was punishable by death, f
^ In the Athenian city-state, which, though similar in appear-
ance to the Roman city-state, represents a more primitive type,
legislation on this point was the same. Failure to perform fa-
milial duties gave rise to a special complaint, the ypatft^ KOKtimaK.
“Those who maltreated or insulted their parents or their su-
periors, who did not furnish them with means of existence which
they required, who did not see to it that they were given funerals
in keeping with the dignity of their families . . . could be

w Exodust nd, 17. — Cf. Deuteronomy ^ zxvii, 16.

Exodus, xxi, 15.
w Ibid,, aud. 18-21.

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 157

prosecuted by the KaKtivtm” The duties of relatives

towards an orphan were sanctioned by actions of the same kind.
But the obviously smaller penalties which were meted out to
these delicts show that the corresponding sentiments did not
have the same force or the same determination in Athens that
they had in Judea.^^

In Rome, a new regression even more defined is observed.
The only famihal obligations that penal law consecrates are
those which-link a client to his patron and conversely.^® As for
other domestic misdeeds, they are no longer punished except by
the father of the family acting as disciplinarian. To be sure,
the authority which he had permitted him to deal with them
severely, but when he employs his power thus, he is not a public
functionary, a magistrate charged with enforcing respect for the
general law of the State in his house ; but he is acting as a pri-
vate citizen.^® These sorts of infraction tend to become purely
private affairs in which society has no interest. So domestic^
functions, little by little, are taken from the central part of the
common conscience.®®

^ Like has been the evolution of sentiments relative to the
relations of the sexes. In the Pentateuch, sins against custom
occupy a considerable place. A multitude of acts are treated
as crimes which our laws no longer countenance as such :
defilement of the fiancee (^Deuteronomy, xxii, 23-27), union

Thonissen, Droit p6nal de la Ripuhligue atMnienne, p. 288.

The punishment was not determined, but seems to have consisted in deg-
radation. (See Thonissen, op. cii., p. 291.)

PatronuSf si clienti fraudem fecerit, sacer esto^ says the law of the Twelve
Tables. — In the early life of the city, penal law was less foreign to domestic life.

A lex regia, which tradition ascribes to Romulus, punished the child who had
maltreated his parents (Festus, p. 230, see Plorare).

»• See Voigt, XII Tafeln, II, p. 273.

It may astonish some to hear talk of a regression of domestic sentiments
among the Romans, the original home of the patriarchal family. We can only
state the facts; what explains them is that the formation of the patriarchal
family had taken from public life a host of elements, constituted as a sphere of
private activity, a sort of interior conscience. A source of variations is thus
opened which until then had not existed. From the day when familial life is
taken from the jurisdiction of social action and put into the home, it varies from
home to home, and domestic sentiments have lost their uniformity and their
determination.

158 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

with a woman-slave {Leviticus, xix, 20-22), deception on the
part of a deflowered girl who presents herself as a virgin at
marriage {Deuteronomy, xxii, 13-21), sodomy {Leviticus, xviii,
22), bestiality {Exodus, xxii, 19), prostitution {Leviticus, xix,
29), and more specially prostitution of daughters of priests
{iUd., xxi, 19), incest, of which Leviticus (ch. xvii) lists no less
than seventeen cases. All these crimes, moreover, are punished
very severely ; for the most part, by death. They are already
less numerous in Athenian law, which no longer punishes any
but paid pederasty, pandering, intercourse with a pure woman-
citizen outside of marriage, finally, incest, although we are badly
informed on the constitutive characteristics of the incestuous
act. The punishments were generally less severe. In the
Roman city, the situation is very much the same, although all
this part of legislation is more undetermined. We might say
that it has lost its importance. “Pederasty, in the primitive
city,” says Rein, “without being provided for by law, was
punished by the people, the censors, or by the head of the family
with death, a penalty, or infamy.” The case was much the
same with stuprum or illegitimate intercourse with a matron.
The father had the right to punish his daughter; the people
punished the same crime on complaint of the aediles by exacting
a penalty or banishment.® It even seems that the repression
of these delicts may be already, in part, a domestic and private
affair. Today these sentiments no longer have any place in
penal law except in two instances: when they are publicly
offended, or the attack made upon the person of a minor,
i^pable of self-defense.®

( The class of penal rules that we have put under the heading
diverse traditions represents, in reality, a multitude of distinct
criminological types, corresponding to different collective senti-
ments. But they have all, or nearly all, disappeared. In
simple societies where tradition is all-powerful and where nearly

Criminalrecht der Roemer, p. 865.

*• /6u2., p. 869.

» We put under this rubric neither rape, nor violation, where other elements
enter in. They are acts of violence more than acts of indecency.

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 159

everything is held in common, the most puerile usages become,
by force of habit, imperative duties.^ At Tonkin, there are a
host of failures to conform to conventions which are more
severely punished than serious attacks on society.-^ | In China,
the doctor^who has not correctly made out his prescription is
punished.^“j The Pentateuch is filled with restrictions of the
same kind. Without considering a very great number of semi-
religious practices whose origin is evidently historical and all
of whose force comes from tradition, food,^“ dress,” a thousand
details of economic life are submitted to very extended regula-
tion.^* Such was still the case up to a certain point in the
Greek city-states. “The State,” says Fustel de Coulanges,
“exercised its tyranny over the smallest things. At Locris,
the law forbade men to drink pure wine. It was the usual thing
for dress to be fixed invariably by the laws of each city-state.
The laws of Sparta regulated the coiffure of women, and the
Athenian laws forbade carrying more than three dresses on a
journey, f In Rhodes, the law forbade shaving ; at Byzantium,
the law punished anyone who even possessed a razor.'! In
Sparta, on the contrary, it forced every man to shave his
mustache.” But the number of these delicts is already
smaller. In Rome, we find no ipore than a few sumptuary
prescriptions relative to women, v In our time, we believe, it
would be difficult to find any in our lawi ' \

\^But much the most important loss penal law suffered is that^
due^' ~ the total j^ pr almost total, disappea rance of religiQua.
crimes -j .Thus, a world of sentiments ceased to count among the '
strong and defined states of the common conscience. No doubt,
when we remain content to compare our legislation on this
matter with that of inferior social types taken in bulk, this

** Post, Bausteine, I, p. 226.

Post, ibid. — The case was the same in ancient Egypt. (See Thonissen,
Etudes sur Vhistoire du droit criminel des peuples anciens, I, p. 149.)

Deuteronomy, xiv, 3 ff .

Ibid., xxii, 5, 11, 12, and xiv, 1.

“Thou shalt not sow thy vineyard with two kinds of seed” (ibid,, xxii,
“Thou shalt not plow with an ox and an ass together “ (ibid., 10).

*• Citi antique, p. 266.

160 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

regression appears so marked that we may doubt its normalcy
and its durability. But when we closely follow the develop-
ment of the facts, we see that this elimination has been regularly
progressive. We see it become more and more complete as we
advance from one social type to another, and it is consequently
impossible for it to be due to some passing and fortuitous
accident.

We could not enumerate all the religious crimes which the
Pentateuch marks out and represses. The Jew had to obey
all the commandments of the Law on pain of suppression. ‘ ‘ But
the soul that doeth aught with a high hand, whether he be home-
bom or a sojourner, the same blasphemeth Jehovah ; and that
soul shall be cut off from among his people.” Under this
ruling, he was not only held not to do anything forbidden,
but also to do everything ordered, such as having himself and
his kin circumcised, of celebrating the sabbath, feast-days, etc.
We do not need to recall how numerous these prescriptions are
and with what terrible punishments they are sanctioned.

In Athens, the place of religious criminality was still very
great. There was a special writ, the ypa<f>rf ao-«^£ias, designed
to deal with attacks against the national religion. Its sphere
was certainly very extensive. “From all appearances, Attic
law did not clearly define crimes and delicts which were qualified
as itriptui, so that a large place was left to the discretion of the
judge.” The list, however, was certainly shorter than in
Hebrew law. Moreover, they are all, or nearly all, delicts of
action, not of abstention. The principal ones that are cited
are, in effect, the following : the denial of beliefs relating to the
gods, to their existence, to their role in human affairs; the
profanation of feast-days, of sacrifices, of games, of temples
and altars ; the violation of the right of asylum, failure to show
respect to the dead, the omission or alteration of ritual practices
by the priest, initiating the vulgar into the mysteries, plucking
the sacred olives, frequenting of temples by people who have

w Numbers, xv, 30,

Meier and Sohoemann, Der attUche Process, 2nd ed., p. 367.

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 161

been forbidden to enter.®® The crime consisted, then, not in not
celebrating the cult, but in disturbing it by positive acts or
words.®® There is no proof that the introduction of new divin-
ities needed to be regularly authorized and was treated as an
impiety, although the natural elasticity of this accusation per-
mitted such an interpretation of the case.®^ It is evident, more-
over, that the religious conscience had to be less intolerant in
the land of the sophists and of Socrates than in a theocratic
society such as the Hebrew. In order for philosophy to be
bom and develop there, it was necessary for traditional beliefs
not to be so strong that they prevented its hatching.

In Rome, there is even less prescription of individual con-
sciences. Fustel de Coulanges has justly insisted upon the
religious character of Roman society, but compared to earlier
peoples, the Roman State was much less penetrated with
religious feeling.®® Political functions, very early separated
from religious functions, subordinated them. “Thanks to this
preponderance of the political principle and to the political
character of the Roman religion, the State did not lend its
authority to religion except in so far as the attacks directed
against it also menaced statehood indirectly. The religious
beliefs of foreign States and of foreigners living in the Roman
Empire were tolerated, if they were kept within bounds and
did not tread upon the State’s authority.” ®® But the State
intervened if its citizens turned towards strange divinities, and,
by that, weakened the national religion. “However, this
point was treated less as a question of law than as an interest
of high administration, and action was taken against them
according to the exigency of the circumstances, by edicts of

** We reproduce the list of Meier and Schoemann, op. dt., p. 368. Cf. Tho-
nissen, op. dt., ch. ii.

^ Fustel de Coulanges says, it is true, that according to a text of Pollux (viii,
46), the celebration of feast-days was obligatory. But the text cited speaks of
a positive profanation, and not of abstention.

** Meier and Schoemann, op. di.^ i^. 369. — Cf. DicHonnaire dea AntiquiUa,
art. Asebeia.

Fustel de Coulanges himself admits that this character was much more
marked in the Athenian city-state (La CiU^ ch. xviii, last lines).

•• Rein, op. dt.^ pp. 887~S88.

162

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

warning and prohibition or by punishments ranging up to
death.” The religious processes certainly did not have as
much importance in Roman criminal justice as they had in
Athens. We do not find any juridical institution there which
recalls the ypa^ij do’cjScui;.

yNot only are crimes against religion more clearly determined
and less numerous, but many of them have descended one or
several degrees.^ The Romans did not put them all on the
Bame level, but distinguished scelera expiabilia from scelera
inexpiabilia. The first required only an expiation which
consisted of a sacrifice offered to the gods.®* No doubt, this
sacrifice was a punishment in the sense that the State could
enforce its accomplishment, because the act which the guilty
one had done contaminated society and might incur the wrath
of the gods. But it is a punishment of an entirely different
character from death, confiscation, exile, etc. Yet these faults,
so easily redeemable, were the ones that Athenian law punished
with the greatest severity. They were :

1. Profanation of any locus sacer;

2. Profanation of any locus religiosus;

3. Divorce in case of marriage per confarreationem;

4. The coming of a male issue from such a marriage ;

5. Exposure of a dead person to the rays of the sun ;

6. The accomplishment without bad intention of some one of the scelera

inexpiabilia.

^ In Athens, profanation of temples, any troubling of religious
ceremonies, sometimes even the smallest infraction of ritual
were punished with death.

In Rome, there were real punishments only against attacks
which were both very serious and intentional. The only
scelera inexpiabilia were really the following :

1. All intentional failure of duty on the part of functionaries to take
care of the auspices or to accomplish the sacra, or, even more, their
profanation ;

Walter, op. cit., § 804.

•• Marquardt, Roemische Staataverfaasung, 2nd ed., vol. Ill, p. 185.

** For evidence of these facts, see Thonissen, op. dt., p. 187.

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 163

2. The doing of a legis actio by a magistrate on a forbidden day, and

that intentionally ;

3. The intentional profanation of feriae by acts forbidden in such cases;

4. Incest committed by a vestal or with a vestal.**

Christianity has often been reproached for its intolerance.
From this point of view, however, it realized considerable prog-
ress over preceding religions. The religious conscience of Chris-
tian societies, even at the time when the faith was at its height,
called forth a penal reaction only when it was attacked by
some infamous action, when one attacked it openly. Separated
from temporal life much more completely than it was at Rome,
it could no longer impose the same authority and had to hem
itself in more with a defensive attitude. It no longer demanded
repression of infractions of minor import as those we have just
spoken of, but only those that menaced some one of its funda-
mental principles, and the number of these was not great, for
the faith, in becoming spiritual, more general and more abstract,
became, at the same time, simplified. Sacrilege, of which
blasphemy is only one variety, heresy under various forms,
are hereafter considered the only religious crimes." The list
continues to diminish, thus evincing that the strong and defined
sentiments themselves became less numerous. How could it be
otherwise? Everybody knows that the Christian religion is
the most idealistic that has ever existed. Thus, it is made up
of articles of faith which are very broad and very general, rather
than of particular beliefs and determined practices. That is
how it comes about that the dawn of free thought under Chris-
tianity was relatively precocious^ Since its origin, different

According to Voigt, XII Tafeln, I, pp. 450-455. — Cf . Marquardt, Roe-
mische Alterthumer, VI, p. 248. — We put aside one or two scelera which had a
lay character, as well as religious, and we count as such only those which are
direct offenses against divine things.

Du Boys, op, cit., VI, pp. 62 ff. Still it is necessary to notice that the se-
verity with which religious crimes were treated is a late development. In the
ninth centuryi sacrilege is still relievable by paying thirty livres (Du Boys, V,
p. 231). An ordinance of 1226, for the first time, sanctioned the death-penalty
for heretics. We can thus see that the enforcement of punishments against
crimes is an abnormal phenomenon, due to exceptional circumstances, and that
it did not partake of the normal development of Christianity.

164

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

schools have been founded, and even opposing sects. Hardly
had Christian societies begun to organize themselves in the
Middle Ages than scholasticism appeared, the first systematic
effort of free thought, the first source of differences. The rights
of discussion are from the first recognized. It is not necessary
to show that its development since then has served to accentuate
this. It thus comes about that religious criminality ended by
completely departing, or almost completely departing, from
penal law.

i

i Thus, there are a number of criminological tsrpes which have
progressively disappeared without any compensation, for no
new ones replaced those which disappeared. If we prohibit
^IBegging, Athens punished idleness.^ There is no society where
attacks against national sentiments or national institutions
have ever been tolerated. Their repression seems to have been
greater heretofore ; consequently, there is reason for believing
that the corresponding sentiments have been weakened. The
crime of Use-majest4, if heretofore widely applied, tends more
and more to disappear.

It has sometimes been said, however, that crimes against the
individual person were not known among lower peoples, that
robbery and murder were even respected there. Lombroso '
has recently tried to take up this thesis. He holds “that crime, '
with the savage, is not an exception, but the general rule . . ^
that it is not considered a crime by anybody.” ** But, in sup-
port of this position, he cites only some rare, equivocal facts
interpreted uncritically. Thus, he is forced to identify robbery
with the practice of communism or with international brigand-
age.*^ But, because property is common to all the members of
the group, it does not at all follow that the law relating to
robbery was recognized. Robbery can exis t only in so far as

* Thonisaen, op. oil., p. 363.

Vhomme criminel, l^nch trans., p. 36.

^ **£yen among civiliied peoples,*' says Lombroso, in support of his thesis,
"it took a long time to establish private property ** (p. 36).

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 165

tl^re is p r oper ty.^^ Moreover, because one society does not
find pillaging upon neighboring nations revolting, we cannot
conclude that it tolerates the same practices in its internal
relations and does not protect its nationals from one another.
But it is internal brigandage with impunity that we must estab-
lish. There is, it is true, a text of Diodorus and another of
Aulus Gellius ** which would make one believe that such license
existed in ancient Egypt. But these texts are contradicted
by everything that we know of Egyptian civilization: “How
can we admit,” Thonissen very justly says, “tolerance of rob-
bery in a country where . . . the laws pronounced the sentence
of death upon him who lived by illicit gain ; where the simple
alteration of weight or size was punishable by the loss of both
hands?” We can seek by means of conjectures*® to put
together the facts that writers have inexactly reported to us,
but the inexactitude of their recital is undoubted

As for the homicides of which Lombroso speaks, they are
always done under exceptional circumstances They are so
many acts of war, so many religious sacrifices or the result of
the absolute power that a barbarous despot exercises over his
subjects, or a father over his children. But what must be
shown is the absence of any rule which, in principle, proscribes
murder. Among these particularly extraordinary examples
there is not one which conduces to such a conclusion. The fact
that under special conditions there is a departure from this
rule does not prove that it does not exist. Do we not, indeed,
meet with such exceptions even in contemporary societies?
Is a general who sends a regiment to certain death in order to
save the rest of the army acting otherwise than the priest who

This must not be forgotten in judging certain ideas of primitive peoples
concerning robbery. Where communism is recent, the link between the thing
and the person is still weak ; that is to say, the right of an individual in a thing
is not as strong as it is today, nor, accordingly, are the attacks against this right
so serious. It is not that robbery is so much tolerated ; it does not exist where
private property is non-existent.

** Diodorus, I, 39 ; Aulus Gellius, Nodes Atlicae, XI, 18.

Thonissen, tiudes, etc., I, 168.

** The conjectures are very simple. (See Thonissen and Tarde, CriminaliU,
p. 40.)

166

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

sacrifices a victim to appease the national god ? Are not people
killed in war? Does not the husband who puts to death an
adulterous wife enjoy, in certain cases, a relative impunity, if
not an absolute? The sympathy with which murderers and
robbers are sometimes treated is not more demonstrative. Indi-
viduals can admire the courage of a man without, in principle,
tolerating his act.

. Besides, the conception which is at the base of this doctrine
is contradictory in its terms. It supposes, in effect, that primi-
tive peoples are devoid of all morality. But from the moment
that men form a society, as rudimentary as it may be, there are
of necessity rules which govern their relations, and, conse-
quently, an ethic which, while it does not resemble ours, none
the less exists. Moreover, if there is one rule common to all
these moral precepts, it is certainly that which forbids attacks
upon the person, for men who resemble each other cannot live
together without each manifesting to his fellows a sympathy
which opposes every act of a kind to make them suffer.^®

What there is of truth in this theory is, first, tha^ the laws
protective of the person sometimes overlook a part of the
population, such as children and slaves. Second, it is legitimate
to believe that this protection is now assured with, a more
jealous care, and, consequently, that the collective sentiments
which correspond to it have become stronger. But there is
nothing in these facts which invalidates our conclusion. If all
the individuals who make up society are today equally pro-
tected, no matter what their status, this tempering of customs
is due, not to the appearance of a really new {jenal rule,Jiut^to
the extension of an old one. In the beginning, it was forbidden
to make ah attempt upon the life of members of the group ; but
this did not apply to children and slaves. Now that we no longer

This proposition does not contradict that other, often enunciated in this
work, that, at this moment of evolution, the individual personality does not
exist. That which makes it imperfect is the psychic personality, and especially
the superior psychic personality. But individuals always have a distinct or-
ganic life, and this suffices to give birth to this sympathy, although it becomes
stronger when personality is more developed.

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 167

make this distinction, some acts which were not criminal have
become punishable. But that is simply because there are more
persons in society, and not because there are more collective sen-
timents. It is not they which have multiplied, but the objects to
which they relate themselves. If, however, there is place for ad-
mitting that the respect of society for the individual has become
stronger, it does not follow that the central region of the com-
mon conscience is more extended. No new elements have
entered, since this sentiment has always existed and has. always
had enough energy not to tolerate its abrogation. The only
change that has been produced is that an old element has
become more intense. But this simple growth of strength
cannot compensate for the multiple, serious losses that we have
observed.

^ Thus, viewed in the large, the common conscience consists
less and less of strong, determined sentiments. Thus it comes
about that thejiyerage intensity and mean degree of determi-
nation of collective states are always diminishing, as we have
stated.' Even the very restrained growth that we have just
observed only serves to confirm this result. It is, indeed, re-
markable that the only collective sentiments that have become']
more intense are those which have for their object, not social j
affairs, but the individual.^ For this to be so, the individual-^"
personality must have become a muclT fnore important element ;
in the life of society, and in order for it to have acquired this '
importance, it is not enough for the personal conscience of each
to have grown in absolute value, but also to have grown more
than the common conscience. It must have been emanci-
pated from the yoke of the latter, and, consequently, the latter
must have fallen from its throne and lost the determinate power
that it originally used to exercise. In short, if the relation
between these two had remained the same, if both had developed
in volume and vitality in the same proportions, the collective
sentiments which relate to the individual would themselves
also have remained the same. Above all, they would not be
the only ones that had grown. For they depend uniquely on

168

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

the social value of the individual factor, and that, in its turn,
is determined, not by the absolute development of this factor,
but by the relative extent of the part which relates to it in the
totality of social phenomena,

V

We could further verify this proposition by proceeding with a
method that we shall only briefly indicate.

We do not actually possess any scientific notion of what reli-
gion is. To obtain this, we would have to treat the problem
by the same comparative method that we have applied to the
questi(m of crime, and that is an effort which has not yet been
made. Cjt has often been said that religion was, at each moment
of history, the totality of beliefs and sentiments of all sorts
relative to the relations of man with a being or beings whose
nature he regarded as superior to his own*^ But such a definition
is manifestly ina dequat e. In effect, there is a multitude of
rules, either of conduct or of thought, which are certainly re-
ligious, and which, moreover, (jipply to relations of an entirely
different sort.) Religion forbids the Jews eating certain meats
and orders them to dress in a certain fixed way. It imposes
such and such an opinion concerning the nature of man and
things, concerning the origin of the world.d It often governs
even juridical, moral, and economic relations) Its sphere of
action extends, then, beyond the commerce of man with the
divine. (jVe know for certain, moreover, that a religion without
God exists, This alone should be sufficient to show that we
no longer have the right to define religion in terms of the idea
of God. Finally, if the extraordinary authority that the believer
vests in the divinity can account for the particular prestige of
everything religious, it remains to be explained how men have
been led to attribute such an authority to a being who, in the
opinion of the world, is in many cases, if not always, a product
of their imagination. Nothing comes from nothing ; this force

Buddhism (see article on Buddhism in the Encydopidie dea sciences reli»
geuses).

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 169

must have come to him from somewhere, and, consequently,
this formula does not get to the heart of the matter.

But this element aside, the sole characteristic that all ideas
such as religious sentiments equally present seems to be that
they are common to a certain number of people living together,
and that, besides, they have an average intensity that is
quite elevated. It is, indeed, a constant fact that, when a
slightly strong conviction is held by the same community of
men, it inevitably takes on a religious character. It inspires
in consciences the same reverential respect as beliefs properly
religious. It is, thus, very probable — this brief exposition, of
course, is not rigorous proof — that religion corresponds to a
region equally very central in the common conscience. It
remains, it is true, to circumscribe this region, to distinguish
it from that to which penal law corresponds, and with which,
‘moreover, it is often either wholly or in part confused. These
questions are left to study, but their solution does not directly
affect the highly probable conjecture that we have just made.

I But, if there is one truth that history teaches us beyond
doubt, it is that religion tends to embrace a smaller and smaller
portion of. social life. Originally, it pervades everything ;
everything social is religious ; the two words are synonymous.
/Then, little by little, political, economic, scientific functions
[free themselves from the religious function, constitute them-
selves apart and take on a more and more acknowledged tem-
poral character. God, who was at first present in all human
relations, progressively withdraws from them ; he abandons the '
world to men and their disputes. At least, if he continues to
dominate it, it is from on high and at a distance, and the force
which he exercises, becoming more general and more indeter-
minate, leaves more place to the free play of human forces.
The individual really feels himself less acted upon; he becomes
more a source of spontaneous activity. In short, not only
does not the domain of religion grow at the same time and in
the same measure as temporal life, but it contracts more and
more. This regression did not begin at some certain moment

170

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

of history, but we can follow its phases sinc ft tho origi ns of socia l
evolution. It is'i thus, linked to the fundamental conditions of
the development of societies, and it shows that there is a decreas-
ing number of collective beliefs and sentiments which are both
collective enough and strong enough to take on a religious
character. That is to say, the average intensity of the common
conscience progressively becomes enfeebled.

This proof has an advantage over the preceding ; it permits
us to establish that the same law of regression applies to the
representative element of the common conscience quite as
completely as to the affective element. Through penal law,
we can reach only phenomena of sensibility, whereas religion
comprehends, besides sentiments, ideas and doctrines.

' The decrease in the number of proverbs, adages, dicta, etc.
as societies develop, is another proof that the collective repre-
sentations move towards indetermination.

Among primitive peoples, formulas of this type are very
numerous. The greater part of the races of west Afric a, as
Ellis says, possess an abundant collection of proverb's; there
is at least one for each circumstance of life, a fact which is
common to the majority of peoples who have made little progress
in civilization.®' Advanced societies are somewhat fertile in
this regard only during the early years of their existence. Later,
not only do they not produce any new proverbs, but the old ones
die out little by little, lose their proper acceptation and end
even by no longer being communicated. The proof of this is
that it is particularly in lower societies that they find their most
fertile field, and that today they are found maintained only in
the least elevated classes.®* prove rb is » conde nsed

statement ttf. g coll ectiv e idea, or sentiment “ielatiye, to a. deter-
mined category of objects. It is, indeed, impossible that there
be some beliefs and sentiments of this character without their
being fixed in this form. As every thought tends towards an

" The Ewe-Speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast, p. 268, London, 1890.

** Wilhelm Borphft^t, Die Sprichwdrtlichen Redensarten, XII, Leipzig, 1888.

Of. V. Wsrsz, LfisJ^prichwdrt^ hex den Roemischen Komikem, Zurich, 1889.

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 171

expression adequate to it, if it is common to a certain numbeir of
individuals, it necessarily ends by being enclosed in a formula
which is equally common to them. Every function which
endures makes an organ in its own image. It is thus wrong to
explain the declin^of proverbs by speaking of our realistic taste
and duFscIiMitTfic temper. We do not carry over into conver-
sational language such a care for precision nor such a disdain
for images. On the contrary, we find a great deal of relish in
the old proverbs which have come down to us. Moreover, the
image is not an inherent element in the proverb ; it is one of the
means, but not the only one, by which collective thought con-
denses itself. These short formulas end, however, by becoming
much too narrow to encompass the diversity of individual
sentiments. Their’ unity no longer has any relation to the
divergences which are existent. Thus, they manage to maintain
themselves only by assuming a very general signification, and
ultimately disappear. The organ atrophies because the func-
tion is no longer exercised ; that is to say, because there are
fewer quite defined collective representations to enclose in a
determined form.

Thus, everything tends to prove that the evolution of the
common conscience takes place in the manner we have indicated.i
(Truly, it progresses less than individual consciences. In any!'
case, it becomes feebler and vaguer in its entirety. The col - 1
lective type loses its background, its forms become more abstract
and more indecisive. No doubt, if this decadence were, as has
often been believed, an original product of our most recent
civilization and a unique happening in the history of societies,
we might ask if it will endure. But, in reality, it has pursued
this course in an uninterrupted manner since the most distant
times. That is what we are showing. Individualism, free
thought, dates neither from our time, nor from 1789, nor from
the Reformation, nor from scholasticism, nor from the decline
of Graeco-Latin poljrtheism or oriental theocracies. It is a
phenomenon which begins in no certain part, but which devel-
ops without cessation all through history. Assuredly, this

172

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

development is not straightforward. New societies which
replace old social types never begin their careers where their
predecessors left off. How could that be possible? What
the child continues is not the old age or mature age of its parents,
but their own infancy. If, then, we wish to reckon the course that
has been run, we must consider successive societies at the same
epoch of their life. We must compare Christian societies of
the Middle Ages with primitive Rome, the latter with the
original Greek city-state, etc. We find, then, that this prog-
ress, or, if one wishes, this regression, is accomplished, so
to speak, without a break in continuity. This is an inevitable
law against which it would be absurd to inveigh.

This is not to say, however, that the common conscience is
threatened with total disappearance. Only, it more and more
comes to consist of very. general and very indeterminate ways
of thinking and feeling, which leave an open place for a growing*
multitude of individual differences. Th ere is even a place whe re
it is strengthened and made precise : that is the way in which
it regards the individualTTAs all the other beliefs and ^11 the
other practices take on a charac ter less and less reli gious, the
i ndividual becomes the object of a sort of religi on. We erect
a cult in behalf of personal dignity which), as every strong c ult,
alre ady has it's superstit ions. It is thus, if one wishes, a com-
mon cult, but it is possible only by the ruin of all others, and,
consequently, cannot produce the same effects as this multitude
of extinguished beliefs. There is no compensation for that.
Moreover, if it is common in so far as the community partakes
of it, it is individual in its object. If it turns all wills towards
the same end, this end is not social. It thus occupies a com-
pletely exceptional place in the collective conscience. It is
still from society that it takes all its force, but it is not to
society that it attaches us ; it is to ourselves. Hence, it does
not constitute a true social link. That is why we have been
justly able to reproach the theorists who have made this
sentiment exclusively basic in their moral doctrine,, with the
ensuing dissolution of society. We can then conclude by saying

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 173

that all social links which result from likeness progressively
slacken.

This law, in itself, is already enough to show the tremendous
grandeur of the role of the division of labor. In sum, since
mechanical solidarity progressively becomes enfeebled, life
properly social must decrease or another solidarity must slowly
come in to take the place of that which has gone. The choice
must be made. In vain shall we contend that the collective
conscience extends and grows stronger at the same time as
that of individuals. We have just proved that the two terms
vary in a sense inverse to each other. Social progress, however,
does not consist in a continual dissolution. On the contrary,
the more we advance, the more profoundly do societies reveal
the sentiment of self and of unity. There must, then, be some
other social link which produces this"“result ; this cannot be
* any other than that wliicli comes from the division of labor.

If, moreover, one recalls that even where it is most resistant,
mechanical solidarity does not link men with the same force
as the division of labor, and that, moreover, it leaves outside
its scope the major part of phenomena actually social, it will be-
come still more evident that social solidarity tends to become
exclusively organic. It is the division of labor which, more and
more, fills the role that was formerly filled by the common
conscience. It is the principal bond of social aggregates of
^ihigher types.

This is a function of the division of labor a good deal more
important than that ordinarily assigned to it by economists.

CHAPTER SIX

PROGRESSIVE PREPONDERANCE OF ORGANIC
SOLIDARITY; ITS CONSEQUENCES {Continued)

I

Thus, U is an historical law that mechanical solidarity which
first stands alone, or nearly so, progressively loses ground,
a nd that o rgani.c.solidarity becomes, little by little, preponder-
^t. But when the way in which men are solidary becomes
modified, the structure of societies cannot but change. The
form of a body is necessarily transformed when the molecular
afiShities are no longer the same. Consequently, if the preceding
proposition is correct, there ought to be two social types which
correspond to these two types of solidarity. *

If we try to construct intellectually the ideal type of a society
whose coKesion was exclusively the result of resemblances,
we should have to conceive it as an absolutely homogeneous
naass" whose parts were not distinguished from one another.
Cd fisequMtly,' the y w ould have no arrangement; in short, it
would be devoid oL -all definite form and ah orgamzat ioh.' It
would be the veritable sociaTprotoplasm, the geraT whence
would arise all social types. We propose to call the aggregate

thus characterized , hwd e.

~ Itls true that we have not yet, in any completely authentic
fashion, observed societies which, in all respects, complied with
this definition. What gives us the* right to postulate their
existence, however, is that lower societies, those which are most
closely akin to primitivity, are formed by a simple repetition of
i^^gregates of this kind. We find an almost perfectly pure
example of this social oiganization among the Indians of North

174

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY ITsI

Ameilca.. Each I roquois tribe , for example, contains a certain
number of partiaL societies (the largest ones comprise eight)
which present all the characteristics we have just mentioned.
The adults of both sexes are on a plane of equality. The sachems
and chiefs, who are at the head of these groups and by whose
council the common affairs of the tribe are administered, do
not enjoy any superiority. Kinship itself is not organized,
for we cannot give this name to the distribution of the mass in
generations. In the late epoch when we observed these peoples,
there were, indeed, some special obligations which bound the
child to its maternal relatives, but these relations come to very
little and are not sensibly distinguishable from those which
bind the child to other members of society. Originally, all
persons of the same age were kin in the same degree.^ In other
cases, we are even nearer the horde. Fison and Howitt describe
•Australian tribes which consist of only two such divisions.*

■ We give the name clan to the horde which has ceased to be
independent by becoming ah element in a more extensive group,
of ' segmental s ocie ties with a clan~hdse to peoples who
are constituted through an association of clans. We say of
these societies that they are segmental in order to indicate
their formation by the repetition of like aggregates in them,
analogous to the rings of an earthworm, and we say of this
elementary aggregate that it is a clan, because this word well
expresses its mixed nature, at once familial and political. It
is a family in the sense that all the members who compose it
are considered as kin of one another, and they are, in fact, for
the most part consanguineous. The affinities that the com-
munity of blood brings about are principally those which keep
them united. Moreover, they sustain relations with one another
that we can term domestic, since we also find them in societies
whose familial character is uncontested: I mean collective
punishment, collective responsibility, and, as soon as private

^ Morgan, Ancieni Society, pp. 62-122.

* KamiUiroi and Kurnai. This state has, however, been passed through by
the Indian societies of America. (See Morgan, op. dt)

176

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

property makes its appearance, mutual inheritance. But, on
the other hand, it is not a family in the proper sense of the word,
for, in order to partake of it, it is not necessary to have any
definite relations of consanguinity with other members of the
clan. It is enough to present an external criterion which
generally consists in using the same name. Although this
sign is thought to denote a common origin, such a civil state
really constitutes a proof which is not very demonstrative and
very easy to imitate. Thus, the clan contains a great many
strangers, and this permits it to attain dimensions such as a
family, properly speaking, never has. It often comprises
several thousand persons. Moreover, it is the fundamental
political unity ; the heads of clans are the only social authorities.®

We can thus qualify this organization as politico-familial.
Not only has the clan consanguinity as its basis, but different
clans of the same people are often considered as kin to one
another. Among the Iroquois, they treat each other, according
to circumstances, as brothers or as cousins.^ Among the Jews,
who present, as we shall see, the most characteristic traits of
the same social organization, the ancestor of each of the clans
which compose the tribe is believed to be descended from the
tribal founder, who is himself regarded as one of the sons of the
father of the race. But this denomination has the inconvenience,
in comparison with the preceding, of not putting in relief that
which gives the peculiar structure to these societies.

But, in whatever manner we name it, this organization,
just as the horde, of which it is only an extension, carries with it
no ^ther solidarity than that derived from likenesses, since the so-
ciety isTonneJbf similar segments and these in their turn enclose

» If, in its pure state, as we at least believe, the clan is made up of an undivided
family which is confused, later particular families, distinct from one another,
appear on the foundation of primitive homogeneity. But this appearance does
not alter the essential traits of the social organization that we are describing ;
that is why this is no place to stop. The clan remains the political unity, and
as families are similar and equal, society remains formed of similar and homo-
geneous segments, although, besides these priitiitive segments, new segmenta-
tions begin to appear, but of the same kind.

* Morgan, op. cit., p. 90.

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 177

only homogeneous elements. No doubt, each clan has its own
features and'is" theret5y“distingui8hed from others, but also the
solidarity is proportionally more feeble as they are more hetero-
geneous, and inversely. F or segmental organization to be pos-
'^sible, the segments must resemble one another ; without that,
they would not be united. And they must differ; without
this, they would lose themselves in each other and be effaced.
According to the societies, the two contrary necessities are
satisfied in different proportions, but the social type remains the
same.> t

Now we are leaving the domain of pre-history and conjecture.
Not only is there nothing hypothetical about this social type,
but it is almost the most common among lower societies, and we
know that they are the most numerous. We have already seen
that it was general in America and in Australia. Post shows
that it is very frequent among the African negroes.® The
Hebrews remained in it to a late date, and the Kabyles never
passed beyond it.® Thus, Waitz, wishing to characterize the
structure of these peoples in a general way, people whom he
calls Naiurvoelker, gives the following picture in which will be
found the general lines of the organization that we have just
described : “As a general rule, families live one beside the other
in great independence, and little by little develop a grouping
of small societies [clans] ’’ which have no definite constitution,
so long as internal conflicts or an external danger, such as war,
does not lead one or several men to disengage themselves from
the mass and become leaders. Their influence, which rests
peculiarly on their personal titles, only extends and has sway
within marked limits set forth by the confidence and patience
of the others. Every adult remains in the eyes of such a chief ,
in a state of complete independence. That is why such people,

® Afrikanische Jurispmdenz, I.

* See Hanoteau and Letourneux, La Kahylie et les Coutumes kabyles^ II, and
Masqueray, Formation des citis chez les populations sedentaires de VAlgirie^ ch. v.

^ Waitz erroneously presents the clan as derivative from the family. The
contrary is the case. Even if this description is important because of the com-
petency of its author, it lacks some precision.

178 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

without any other internal organization, are held together only
by external circumstances and through the habit of common
life.” *

The disposition of the clans in the interior of the society, and,
accordingly, its configuration, can, of course, vary. Some-
times, they are simply juxtaposed so as to form a linear series ;
such is the case among many of the Indian tribes of North
America.® Sometimes — and this is a mark of a more elevated
organization — each of them is involved in a much greater
group which, formed by the union of several clans, has its own
life and a special name. Each of these groups, in its turn, can
be involved with several others in another aggregate still more
extensive, and from this series of successive involvements there
results the unity of the total society. Thus, among the Kabyles,
the political unity is the clan, constituted in the form of a village
(djemmaa or thaddart ) ; several djemmaa form a tribe (arch’),
and several tribes form the co nfederatio n (thak’ the high-
est political society that the Kabyles know. The same is true
among the Hebrews ; the ckn (which is so erroneously trans-
lated as the family) is a vast society which encompasses thou-
sands of persons, descended, according to tradition, from the
same ancestor.^ A certain number of families composed the
tribe and the union of the twelve tribes formed the totality of
the^Hebrew people.

These societies are such typical examples of mechanical
solidarity that their principal physiological characteristics
come from it.

We know that, in them, religion pervades the whole social
life, but that is because social life is made up almost exclusively
of common beliefs and of common practices which derive from
unanimous adhesion a very particular intensity. \ Retracing

» Anthropologies I, p. 369.

* Morgan, op. cit.s pp. 163 ff.

Thus, the tribe of Reuben, which comprised in all {out familieSs consisted of,
according to Numbers (xxvi, 7), more than forty-three thousand adults above
twenty years. (Cf. NumberSs ch. iii, 16 ff. ; Joshuas vii, 14. — Munck, Palestines
pp. 116, 126, 191.)

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 179

by analysis of only classical texts until an epoch completely
analogous to that of which we are speaking, Fustel de Coulanges
has discovered that the early organization of these societies
was of a familial nature, and that, moreover, the primitive
family was constituted on a religious base. But he has mistaken
the cause for the effect. After setting up the religious idea,
without bothering to establish its derivation, he has deduced
from it social arrangements,^^ when, on the contrary, it is the
latter that explain the power and nature of the religious idea.
Because all social masses have been formed from homogeneous
elements, that is to say, because the collective type was very
developed there and the individual type in a rudimentary state,
it was inevitable that the whole psychic life of society should
take on a religious character.

Thus does communism arise, a quality so often noted among
‘these peoples. Communism, in effect, is the necessary product
of this special cohesion which absorbs th^ individual in the
group, the part in the whole. Property is definitive only of tEe
extension of the person over things. Where the collective per-
\ sonality is the only one existent, property also must be collective,
lit will become individual only when the individual, disengaging
(himself from the mass, shall become a being personal and distinct,
not only as an organism, but also as a factor in social life.^^

“ “We have established the history of a belief. It is set up ; human society
is constituted. It modifies itself ; society goes through a series of revolutions.
It disappears ; society undergoes a change “ (CiU antique, end) .

** Spencer has already said that social evolution, just as universal evolution,
begins in a stage of more or less perfect homogeneity. But this proposition does
not in any wise resemble the one that we have just been developing. For Spen-
cer, a society that was perfectly homogeneous would not truly be a society, for
homogeneity is by nature unstable, and society is essentially a coherent whole.
The social role of homogeneity is completely secondary ; it may look towards
an ulterior co-operation, but it is not a specific source of social life. At times,
Spencer seems to see in societies such as we have just been describing only
an ephemeral juxtaposition of independent individuals, the zero of social life.
We have, on the contrary, just seen that they have a very strong collective life,
although %ui generUt which manifests itself not in exchanges and contracts, but
in a great abundance of common beliefs and common practices. These aggre-
gates are coherent, not in spite of their homogeneity, but because of their
homogeneity. Not only is the community not too weak ; but we may even
say that it alone exists. Moreover, these societies have a definite type which
comes from their homogeneity. We cannot treat them as negligible quantities.

180

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

This type can even be modified without the nature of social
solidarity undergoing any change. In fact, primitive peoples
do not all present this absence of centralization that we have
just observed. There are some, on the contrary, subservient
to an absolute power. The division of labor has then made its
appearance among them. But in this case, the tie which binds
the individual to the chief is identical with that which in our
days attaches the thing to the person. The relations of a bar-
barous despot with his subjects, as that of a master with his
slaves, of a father of a Roman family with his children, is not to
be distinguished from the relations of an owner with the object
he possesses. In these relations there is none of the reciprocity
which the division of labor produces. They have with good
reason been called unilateral.*® The solidarity that they express
remains mechanical. The whole difference is that it links the
individual, not more directly to the group, but to the image of
the group. But the unity of the whole is, as before, exclusive
of the individuality of its parts. ^

If this early division of labor, important as it otherwise is,
does not result in making social solidarity tractable, as might be
expected, that is because of the particular conditions in which
it is realized. It is a general law that the eminent organ of
every society participates in the nature of the collective being
that it represents. Where society has a religious and, so to
speak, superhuman character, whose source we have just shown
to lie in the constitution of the common conscience, it neces-
sarily transmits itself to the chief who directs it and who is thus
elevated above the rest of men. Where individuals are in simple
dependence upon the collective type, they quite naturally be-
come dependent upon the central authority in which it is incar-
nated. Indeed, the right of property which the community
exercises over things in an undivided way passes intact into the
superior personality who finds himself thus constituted. The
properly professional services which the latter renders are little
things in comparison with the extraordinary power with which
See Tarde, Laia de Vimitation, pp. 402-412.

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 181

he is invested. If, in some types of society, the directive power
has so much authority, it is not, as has been said, because they
have a more special need of energetic direction, but this author-
ity emanates entirely from the common conscience, and it is
great because the common conscience itself is highly developed.
Suppose that the common conscience is very feeble or that it
only embraces a small part of social life; the necessity for a
supreme regulative function will not be less. The rest of
society, however, will not be stronger than he who is entrusted
with inferior authority. That is why solidarity is still me-
chanical where the division of labor is not highly developed.
It is, indeed, under these conditions that mechanical solidarity
reaches its maximum power, for the action of the common con-
science is stronger when it is exercised, not in a diffuse manner,
but through the medium of a defined organ.

There js^ then, a social structure of determined nature to
which mechanical solidarity ~ corresponds. What .character-
izes it is a system of segments homogeneous and similar to each
other.

II

Quite_ different is t he struct ure of societies where organic^
solidarity is pr eponderant.

They are constituted, not by a repetition of similar, homo-
geneous segments, but by a system of different organs each of
which has a special role, and which are themselves formed of'
differentiated parts. Not only are social elements not of the
same nature, but they are not arranged in the same manner.
They are not, juxtaposed linearily as the rings of an earthworm,
nor entwined one with another, but co-ordinated and subordi-
nated one to another around the same central organ which exer-
cises a moderating action over the rest of the organism. This
organ itself no longer has the same character as in the preced-
ing case, for, if the others depend upon it, it, in its turn, de-
pends upon them. No doubt, it still enjoys a special situation,
and, if one chooses so to speak of it, a privileged position, but

182

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

that is due to the nature of the role that it fills and not to some
cause foreign to its functions, nor to some force communicated
to it from without. Thus, there is no longer anything about
it that is not temporal and human. Between it and other or-
.gam^here is no longer anything but differences in degree.

is thus that, in the animal kingdom, the pre-eminence of the
nervous system over the other systems is reduced to the right,
if one may speak thus, of receiving a choicer nourishment and of
having its fill before the others. But it has need of them, just
as they have need of it.

This social type rests on principles so different from the pre-
ceding that it can develop only in proportion to the effacement
of that preceding tsrpe. In effect, individuals are here grou ped,
no longer according to tteir relations of lineage, but accord-

V wD^they

coD^crate th emselves. Their natural milieu is no longer the
\nat*n*mli(^TuFtEe occupational milieu. It is no longer real
or fictitious consanguinity which marks the place of each one, but
the function which he fills. No doubt, when this new organiza-
tion begins to api^ar, it tries to utilize the existing organization
and assimilate it. ^ The way in which functions are divided thus
follows, as faithfully as possible, the way in which society is
already divided.^ The segments, or at least the groups of seg-
ments united by'^ special affinities become organs. It is thus
that the clans which together formed the tribe of the Levites
appropriated sacerdotal functions for themselves among the
, Hebrew people. In a general way, classes and castes probably
^have no other origin nor any other nature ; they arise from the
multitude of occupational organizations being bom amidst the
pre-existing familial organization. But this mixed arrange-
ment cannot long endure, for between the two 0ates that it
attempts to reconcile, there is an antagonism whi|^ecessarily
ends in a break. It is only a very rudimentary div^m of labor
which can adapt itself to those rigid, defined moulds which were
not made for it. It can grow only by freeing Itself from the
framework which encloses it. As soon as it has passed a cer-

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 183

tain stage of development, there is no longer any relation either
between the immutable number of segments and the steady
growth of functions which are becoming specialized, or be-
tween the hereditarily fixed properties of the first and the new
aptitudes that the second calls forth.“ The social materi al must
en ter into entirely new combinations in order to or ganize itse lf
upon comple tely different foundatjons. But the old structure,
so far as it persists, is opposed to this. That is why it must
disappear.

The history of these two types shows, in effect, that one hM
progre ssed only as the other has retrogressed .

Among the Iroquois, the social constitution with a clan-base
is in a state of purity, and the same is true of the Hebrews as we
see them in the Pentateuch, except for the slight alteration that
we have just noted. Thus, the organized type exists neither
in the first nor in the second, although we can perhaps see the
first stirrings of it in Jewish society.

The case is no longer the same among the Franks in their
Salic law. It presents itself with its own characteristics, dis-
engaged from all compromise. We find among these people,
besides a central authority, stable and regular, a whole system
of administrative functions, as well as judicial. Moreover, the
existence of a contract-law, still, it is true, very poorly developed,
is proof that economic functions themselves are beginning to be
divided and organized. Thus, the politico-familial constitu -
tion is seriously undermined . To be sure, the last social mole-
cule, the village, is still only a transformed clan. The proof of
this is that, among the inhabitants of the same village, there are
relations which are evidently of a domestic nature and which,
in every case, are characteristic of the clan. All the members
of the village have, in the absence of relatives, properly so desig-
nated, an hereditary right over one another.^® A text found
among the Capita extrava^arUia legis salicae (art. 9) tells us.

We shall see the reasons for this below, Book II, ch. iv.

See Glasson, Le droit de aucceaaion dana lea lota barbarea^ p. 19. It is true
that the fact is contested by Fustel de Coulanges, despite the explicit statement
of the text upon which Glasson relies.

184

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

indeed, that in case of murder committed in the village, the
neighbors were collectively solidary. Moreover, the village is a
much more hermetically closed system to the outside and more
sufficient unto itself than would be a simple territorial circum-
scription, for nothing can be established there without unani-
mous consent, express or tacit, from all the inhabitants.^® But,
under this form, t^ clan has l ost some of its essentia l char -
ac teristics. Not only has all remembrance of a co mmon origin
disapp eared, but it has been almost completely stripped of any
politicai importanc e. The political unit is the /iMndred. “The
population,” says Waits, “lived in villages, but it divided itself
into Hundreds which, in peace and in war, formed the unity
which served as a foundation for all relations.”

In Rome, this double movement of progression and retro-
gression also takes place. The Roman clanjs the gem^ and it is
certai n th at the gens was the basis of the old Roman constitu-
tion. BuT7 froffTthe founding of the Republic, it has almost
completely ceased to be a public institution. It is no longer
StEer~a definite territorial unity, as the village among the
Franks, or a political unit. We find it neither in the configura-
tion of territory, nor in the structure of the assemblies of the
people. The comitia curiata, where it played a social role,^®
are replaced by the comitia centuriata, or by the comitia tributa,
which were organized on quite different lines. It is no longer
anything but a private association which is maintained by force
of habit, but which is destined to disappear, because it no longer
corresponds to anything in Roman life. But also, since the
t ime of the Twelve Tables, the division of labor was much
fujthe£^3^nced in Rome than among the preceding peoples
^d the oi^ahized structure more highly developed. There are
already to lae found there important corporations of function-
aries (senators, equites, a pontifical college, etc.), workmen|s

See the heading De Migrantibua of the Salic Law.

Deutsche Verfassungsgeschichte, 2nd ed., II, p. 317.

In the comitia, the voting was done by curia, that is, by a group of gentes.
There is a text which even seems to say that in the interior of each curia there was
voting by gentes* (Cell., XV, 27, 4.)

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 185

groups/® at the same time that the notion of the lay state gets
clear.

Thus , we find ju stification for the Werarchyjthat we have just
established according to other criteria, less methodical, between
the social types that we have previously compared. If we could
say that the Hebrews of the Pentateuch appeared to be a social
t 3 rpe less elevated than the Franks of the Salic law, and that the
latter, in their turn, were below the Romans of the Twelve
Tables, then there is a general law : th e more the segmental
organ ization with a clan-base is manifest and strong among a
people, the more inferior is their social ty pe. It can elevate
itself to a higher state only after freemg^ jtself from this first
stage . It is for the same reason that the Athenian city, while
appearing to be exactly the same type as the Roman city, is,
however, a more primitive type. The politico-familial organi-
zation disappeared much less quickly there. It persisted there
almost until Athens’ decadence.®®

But the organized type cannot subsist alone in a pure state
once the clan has disappeared. The organization with a clan-
base is really only a species of a larger genus, the segmental
organization. The distribution of society into similar compart-
ments corresponds to persisting necessities, even in new socie-
ties where social life is being established, but which produce
their effects in another form. The bulk of the population is no
longer divided according to relations of consanguinity, real or
Active, but according to the division of territory. The seg-
ments are no longer familial aggregates, but territorial circum-
scriptions.

It is through a slow evolution, however, that the passage from
one to aiiolEer is mad e. When i^embrahce of common origin
is extinct, when the domestic relations which derive from it —
but as we have seen, often survive it — have themselves disap-

Marquardt, Privat Leben der Roemer^ II, p. 4.

Until Cleisthenes, and two centuries later, Athens lost her independence.
Moreover, even after Cleisthenes, the Athenian clan, the 76V0;, while having
totally lost its political character, retained a very strong organization. (Cf.
Gilbert, op. ctf., I, pp. 142 and 200.)

184

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

indeed, that in case of murder committed in the village, the
neighbors were collectively solidary. Moreover, the village is a
much more hermetically closed system to the outside and more
sufficient unto itself than would be a simple territorial circum-
scription, for nothing can be established there without unani-
mous consent, express or tacit, from all the inhabitants. But,
under this form, the clan has lost some of its essential char-
acteris tics. Not only has all remembrance of a com mon origin
disap peared, but it has been almost^ompletely stripped of any
pol itical importanc e. The political unit is the ffwndred. “The
population,” says Waitz, “lived in villages, but it divided itself
into Hundreds which, in peace and in war, formed the unity
which served as a foundation for all relations.”

In Rome, this double movement of progression and retro-
gression also takes place. Th e Roman clan is the gens, and it is
certain th at the gens was the basis of the old Roman constitu-
tion. "But,"' from' the founding of the Republic, it has almost
completely ceased to be a public institution. It is no longer
eitKeY" a definite territorial unity, as the village among the
Franks, or a political unit. We find it neither in the configura-
tion of territory, nor in ihe structure of the assemblies of the
people. The comitia curiata, where it played a social role,^*
are replaced by the comitia centuriata, or by the comitia trihuta,
which were organized on quite different lines. It is no longer
anything but a private association which is maintained by force
of habit, but which is destined to disappear, because it no longer
corresponds to anything in Roman life. But also, since the
time of the Twelve Tables, the division of labor was much
fu rthe r Advanced in Rome than among the preceding peoples
and the organized structure more highly developed. There are
already to be found there important corporations of function-
aries (senators, equites, a pontifical college, etc.), workmen's

See the heading De Migrantibua of the Salic Law.

Deutsche Verfassungsgeschichte, 2nd ed., II, p. 317.

In the comitia, the voting was done by curia, that is, by a group of gentes.
There is a text which even seems to say that in the interior of each curia there was
voting by genica, (Gell., XV, 27, 4.)

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 185

groups,^® at the same time that the notion of the lay state gets
clear.

Thus , we find jus tification for the hierar chy t hat we have just
established according to other criteria, less methodical, between
the social types that we have previously compared. If we could
say that the Hebrews of the Pentateuch appeared to be a social
type less elevated than the Franks of the Salic law, and that the
latter, in their turn, were below the Romans of the Twelve
Tables, then there is a general law : _^e more the segmental
organization with a clan-base is manifest and strong among a
J)eople, the more inferior is their social ty pe. It can elevate
itself to a higher state only after freeing it^lf from, this first
stage . It is for the same reason that the Athenian city, while
appearing to be exactly the same type as the Roman city, is,
however, a more primitive type. The politico-familial organi-
zation disappeared much less quickly there. It persisted there
almost until Athens’ decadence.®®

But the organized type cannot subsist alone in a pure state
once the clan has disappeared. The organization with a clan-
base is really only a species of a larger genus, the segmental
organization. The distribution of society into similar compart-
ments corresponds to persisting necessities, even in new socie-
ties where social life is being established, but which produce
their effects in another form. The bulk of the population is no
longer divided according to relations of consanguinity, real or
fictive, but according to the division of territory. The seg-
ments are no longer familial aggregates, but territorial circum-
scriptions.

It is through a slow evolution, however, that the passage from
one to another Is mad e. When'femenibrahce of common origin
is extinct, when the domestic relations which derive from it —
but as we have seen, often survive it — have themselves disap-

Marquardt, Privat Leben der Roemer, II, p. 4.

Until Cleisthenos, and two centuries later, Athens lost her independence.
Moreover, even after Cleisthenes, the Athenian clan, the while having

totally lost its political character, retained a very strong organization. (Cf.
Gilbert, op. cit., I, pp. 142 and 200.)

186

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

peared, the clan no longer has any conception of itself other
than as a group of individuals who occupy the same territory.
It becomes, properly speaking, the village. Thus it is that all
peoples who have passed beyond the clan-stage are organized
in territorial districts (counties, communes, etc.) which, just
as the Roman gens came to take part in the curia, connected
themselves with other districts of similar nature, but vaster,
sometimes called the Hundred, sometimes the assembly, some-
times the ward, which, in their turn, are often enveloped by
others, still more extensive (shire, province, department), whose
union formed the society The envelopment can, however,
be more or less hermetic ; the ties which bind the widest districts
can be more or less strong, as in the centralized countries of con-
temporary Europe, or loose, as in simple confederations. But
the structural principle is the same, and that is why mechanical
solidarity persists even in the most elevated societies.

But even as it is no longer preponderant, the arrangement by
segments is no longer, as in the preceding, the unique frame-
work, nor even the essential framework of society. In the
first place, territorial divisions have something artificial about
them. The ties which result from cohabitation are not as pro-
ifoundly affective of the heart of men as are those arising from
consanguinity. Thus, they have a much smaller resistive
power. When a person is bom into a clan, he can in no way
ever change the fact of his parentage. The same does not hold
true of changing from a city or a province. No doubt, the
geographical distribution generally coincides, in the large, with
a certain moral distribution of population. Each province,
each territorial division, has its peculiar customs and manners,
a life peculiar unto itself. It therefore exercises over the in-
dividuals who are affected by it an attraction which tends to

We do not wish to imply that territorial districts are only a reproduction
of old familial arrangements. This new mode of grouping results, on the con-
trary, at least in part, from new causes which disturb the old. The principal
of these causes is the growth of cities which become the centre of concentration
of population (see below, Book II, ch. ii, 1). But whatever the origins of t^
arrangement may be, it is segmental.

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 187

keep itself alive, and to repel all opposing forces. But, in the
case of the same country, these differences would be neither
very numerous, nor very firmly marked out. The segments
are each more exposed to the others. And in truth, i^ce jthe
Middle Ages, “after the formation of cities, foreign^ artisans
moved ^out as easily a nd as far as did merchants.” , The
segmental organizj^ion lost its cGstinciGon.

It loses more and more ground as societies develop. It is
a general law that partial aggregates which participate in a
larger aggregate see their individuality becoming less and less
distinct. With the disappearance of the familial organization,
local religions disappear without returning. Yet they persist
in local customs. Little by little, they join together and unite
at the same time that dialects and jargons begin to resolve them-
selves into one and the same national language, at the same time
that regional administration loses its autonomy. Some have
seen in this fact a simple consequence of the law of imitation.**
But it is rather a levelling analogous to that which is produced
between liquid masses put into communication. The partitions
which separate the various cells of social fife, being less thick,
are more often broken through. Their permeability becomes
greater as they are traversed more. Accordingly, they lose
their cohesion, become progressively effaced, and, in the same
measure, confound themselves. But local diversities can main-
tain themselves only in so far as diversity of environments con-
tinues to exist. Territorial divisions are thus less and less
grounded in the nature of things, and, consequently, lose their
significance. We can almost say that a people is as much more
advanced as territorial divisions are more superficial.

On the other hand, at the same time that the segmental
oj^anization. is thus effaced, occupational organization comes
out of its to^or more and more completely. In the beginning,
it is true, iit estabUshes itself only within the limits of the simplest

^ Schmoller, La division du travail itudiSe au point de vue historiguet in lUvite
d*4con. poL 18^, p. 145.

^ See Tarde, Les Lois de Vimitaiion, passim.

188

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

segments without extending beyond them. Each city and
its immediate environs form a group in the interior of which
work is divided, but seeks to be sufficient unto itself. “The
city,” says Schmoller, “becomes as far as possible the eccle-
siastical centre, the political and military centre of the surround-
ing villages. It tries to develop all the industries necessary
for the supplying of the country, by seeking to concentrate
commerce and transportation in its territory.” At the same
time, in the interior of the city, the inhabitants are grouped
according to their occupations. Each body of workers is like
a city which leads its own life.“ This is the state in which
the cities of antiquity remained until a comparatively late date,
and where Christian societies started. But the latter grew
out of this stage very early. Since the fourteenth century, the
inter-regional division of labor has been developing: “Each
city, in its beginnings, had as many drapers as it needed. But
the makers of grey cloth of Basle succumbed, even before 1362,
to the competition of the Alsatians. In Strasburg, Frankfort,
Leipzig, the spinning of wool is ruined about 1500. . . . The
character of industrial universality of cities of former times
found itself irreparably destroyed.”

Since then the movement has been extended. “ In the
capital, today more than heretofore, the active forces of the
central government, arts, literature, large credit-operations con-
centrate themselves; in the great seaports are concentrated,
more than ever, all importing and exporting. Hundreds of
small commercial places, trafficking in cattle and wheat, prosper
and grow. Whereas previously each city had its ramparts and
moats, now great fortresses are erected for the protection of the
whole country. Like the capital, the chief places of each prov-
ince grow through the concentration of provincial administra-
tion, by provincial establishments, collections, and schools. The
insane and the sick of certain types, who were heretofore dis-
persed, are banded together from every province and every de-

** Op. cit.t p. 144.

See Levasseur, Les dasaea ouvriirea an France jttagu'dt la RivoliUion, I, p. 195.

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 189

partment into a single enclosure. Different cities always tend
towards certain specialties, so that we now distinguish university-
cities, government-cities, manufacturing cities, cities of com-
merce, of shipping, of banking. In certain points or certain
regions, large industries are concentrated : machine-construc-
tion, spinning, textile-manufacture, tanneries, furnaces, a sugar
industry suppl 3 dng the whole country. Special schools have
been established, the working-class population adapts itself
there, the construction of machines is concentrated there, while
the means of communication and the organization of credit
accommodate themselves to particular circumstances.”**

To be sure, in certain measure , this occup ational organization
was forc ed to adapt itself to the one which had existed Itefore
it,_as it_ had earlier adapted itself to the familial organization.
That is apparent from the description which has preceded. It
is, moreover, a very general fact that new institutions first fall
into the moul d of old institutions. Territorial circumscriptions
tend to spe cializ e themselves like tissue s, organs , or different
parts, just as the clans before them. But, just like the latter,
they are incapable of continuing this role. In fact, a city
always circumscribes either different organs or parts of dif-
ferent organs ; and inversely, there are not many organs which
may be completely comprised within the limits of a determined
district, no matter how far it extends. It almost always runs
beyond them. Indeed, although very often the most highly
solidary organs tend to come closer to each other, nevertheless,
in general, their material proximity very inexactly reflects the
more or less great intimacy of their relations. Certain of them
are very distant, although they are directly dependent upon
each other. Others are near, yet their relations are only mediate
and distant. The manner of. human grouping which results
from the division of labor is thus very different from that which
expresses the partition of the population in space. The occ u-
pational envir onment jloes not coincide with the territorial

Schmoller, La division du travail 4titdiie au point de vue historique^ pp. 145-
148.

190

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

environment any more than it does with the familial environ-
ment. it is a hew framework which substitutes itself for the
oIKers ; thus the substitution is possible only in so far as the
others are effaced.

If this social type is nowhere observable in its absolute
purity; if, indeed, organic solMarity i^ nowhere come_upon
wholl y alone, at least it disengages itself more and more f rom
all mixtu re, j u st as it becomes more and more p rep onderant.
This predominance is much more rapid and complete at the
very moment when this structure affirms itself more strongly,
the other having become more indistinct. The very defined
segment that the clan form^ is replaced by territorial circum-
scription. In its origin, at least, the latter corresponded,
although in a vague and only proximate way, to the real moral
division of the population. But it slowly loses this character
and becomes an arbitrary, conventional combination. But in
the degree that these barriers are broken down, they are rebuilt
by systems of organs much more highly developed. If, then,
social evolution rests upon the action of these same determinate
causes, — and we shall later see that this hypothesis is the only
one conceivable, — we may be permitted to predict that this
double movement will continue in the same path, and that a
day will come when our whole social and political organization
will have a base exclusively, or almost exclusively, occupational.

Moreover, the investigations which are to follow will prove
that this o ccupationa l organization is not today everything
tha t it ought to be ; tha t abnormal causes have prevented it
from attaining the degree oF development which our social
order now dema nds. We may judge by that what importance
it must have in the future.

Ill

The same law holds of biological development.

We know today that lower animals are formed of similar
segments, composed either of irregular masses, or in linear series.

See below, in this book, oh. Tii,'§ 2, and Book III, oh. i.

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 191

Indeed, at the lowest rung of the ladder, the elements are not
only alike, they are still in homogeneous composition. We
generally call them colonies. But this expression, which is
certainly not without equivocation, does not signify that these
associations are not individual organisms, for “ every colony
whose members have a continuity of tissues is, in reality, an
individual.” What characterizes the individuality of any
given aggregate is the existence of operations effectuated in
common by all parts. Thus, among the members of a colony,
nutritive materials are taken in common, making impossible
any movement except through movements of the totality, in
order for the colony not to be dissolved. Moreover, the egg,
issuing from one of the associated segments, reproduces, not
this segment, but the entire colony of which it is a part. “Be-
tween colonies of polyps and the most elevated animals, there
is, from this point of view, no difference.” What makes such
a total, radical separation impossible is that there are no organ-
isms, as centralized as they may be, which do not present, in
different degrees, some colonial constitution. We find traces
up through the vertebrates, in their skeletal composition, in
their urogenital make-up, etc. Particularly is proof rendered
by their embryonic development of their being nothing else than
modified colonies.®®

There is, thus, in the animal world an individuality “which is
produced apart from a whole combination of organs.” But,
it is identical with that of societies that we have termed seg-
mental. Not only is the structural plan evidently the same,
but the solidarity is of the same kind. Since the parts which
make up an am'mal colony are mechanically attached to each
other, they can act only as a whole, at least if they remain united.
Activity is here collective. In a society of poljqjs, since all
stomachs work together, an individual cannot eat without other
individuals eating. It is, says Perrier, communism in every

** Perrier, Le Tranaformiamet p. 169.

*• Perrier, Coloniea animalea, p. 778.

*0 Ibid,, Book IV, ch. v, vi, vii.

w Ibid., p. 779.

192

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

meaning of the word.** A member of a colony, particularly
when it is irresolute, cannot contract itself without dragging
into its movement the polyps to which it is joined, and the
movement communicates itself from place to place.*® In a
worm, each annule depends upon the others very rigidly, and
that is so even though it can detach itself without danger.

^ But, even as the segmental type becomes effaced as we ad-
vance in the scale of social evolution, the colonial type disappears
in so far as' we go up in the scale of organisms. Already im-
paired among the earthworms, although still very apparent,
it becomes almost imperceptible among the molluscs, and ulti-
mately only the analysis of a scholar can find any traces of it
among the vertebrates. We do not have to show the analogies
between the type which replaces the preceding one and that of
organic societies. In one case as in the other, the structure
derives from the division of labor and its solidarity. Each part
of the animal, having become an organ, has its proper sphere
of action where it moves independently without imposing itself
upon others. But, from another point of view, they depend
more upon one another than in a colony, since they cannot sep-
arate without perishing. Finally, in organic evolution as in
social evolution, the division of labor begins by utilizing the
framework of segmental organization, but ultimately frees itself
and develops autonomously. If, in fact, the organ is some-
times only a transformed segment^ that is an exception.**

In sum, we have distinguished two kinds of solidarity: we
have just learned that there exist t wo social types which corre-
spond to them. E ven as th e s olid arities develop in inverse ratio
to each other, of the two corresponding social types, one regres ses
w hile t he other pr ogresses , and t he latter is t hat fixe d b y the
division of lab or. Besides confirming what has preceded, this
result succeeds in showing us the total importance of the division
of labor. Just as it is it which, for the most part, makes coherent

*8 Transformiarne, p. 167.

** Colonies aninudes, p. 771.

^ See Colonies animdUs, pp. 763 ff.

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 193

the societies in which we live, so also does it determine the
constitutive traits of their structure, and every fact presages
that, in the future, its role, from this point of view, will become
ever greater.

IV

The law that we have established in the last two chapters has
been able by a quality, but by a quality only, to recall to us the
dominating tendency in Spencer's sociology. With him, we
have said that the place^f the individual in society,^ of no ac-
count in its origins, becomes greater with civilization. But this
incontestable fact is presented to us under an aspect totally
different from that of English philosophy, so that, ultimately, our
conclusions are opposed to his more than they are in agreement.

First of all, according to him, this absorption of the i ndiv idual
into the group would be the result of force and of an artificial
organization necessitated by the state of war in which lower
societies chronically live. It is especially in war that union
is necessary to success. A group can defend itself against
another group or subject it to itself only by acting together.
It is necessary for all the individual forces to be concentrated
in a permanent manner in an indissoluble union. But the
only means of producing this concentration instantaneously is
'by instituting a very strong authority to which individuals are'
[absolutely submissive. It is necessary that, as the will of a
soldier finds itself suspended in executing the will of his superior,
so too does the will of citizens find itself curtailed by that of
the government.*® Thus, it is an organized despotism which
would annihilate individuals, and since this organization is
essentially military, it is through militarism that Spencer defines
these types of society.

We have seen, on the contrary, that this effacement of the
individual has as its place of origin a social type which is char-
acterized by a complete absence of all centralization. It is a
product of that state of homogeneity which distinguishes prim-

« Principles of Sociology, II, p. 153.

194

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

itive societies. LMfche individual is not distinct from the group,
it is because the individual consctence hardly at all distin-
guishable from the coriec tive consc ience. Spencer and other
sociologists with him seem to have interpreted these distant
facts in terms ot very modem ideas. The very pronounced
contemporary sentiment that each of us has of his own individ-
l^uality has led them to believe that personal rights cannot be

i restrained to this point except by a coercive organization. We
cling to them so firmly that they find it inconceivable for man
to have willingly abandoned them. I n fa ct , if in Icwer soci eties
so small a pla ce is given to individual personality, that is not
because it has been restrained dr artificially suppresiedT TTt is
simply because, at that moment of history, it did not exist.

Moreover, Spencer himself realizes that, of these societies,
many have a constitution so little military and authoritarian
that he qualifies them as democratic.®* He wishes, however,
to see in them the first symptoms of the future which he calls
industrial. To that end, it is necessary jfor him to misconceive
the fact that here as in those where thiere is submission to a
despotic government, the indi vidual has no_sphere of action
proper to him^ as the gene ral i nstjtutipn. of communjsm„ prove s.
Indeed, the traditions, prejudices, the collective usages of all
sorts, are not any the less burdensome to him than would be
a constituted authority. Thus, we can term them democratic
only by distorting the ordinary sense of the word. Moreover,
if they were really impressed with the precocious individualism
that is attributed to them, we would come to the strange con-
clusion that social evolution has tried, from the very first, to
produce the most perfect types, since, as he says, no govern-
mental force exists at first except that of the common will ex-
pressed in the assembled horde.*^ Would not the movement
of history then be circular and would progress consist in any-
thing but a return to the past?

In a general way, it is easy to understand why individuals
will not be submissive except to a collective despotism, for the
•« PfindpUB of Sociology, pp. 164-165. Ibid,, III, pp. 426-427.

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 195

members of a society can be dominated only by a force which is
superior to them, and th ere is only one which has this q uali ty :
t hat is the group. Any personality, as powerful as it might be,
would be as nothing against a whole society; the latter can
carry on in spite of it. That i s wh y, as we have s een, the force
o f authoritarian governments does not come from authorities
themselves, but from the very constitution of society. If, how-
ever, individualism was at this point congenital with humanity,
we cannot see how primitive peoples could so easily subject
themselves to the despotic authority of a chief, wherever neces-
sary. The ideas, customs, institutions would have opposed
such a radical transformation. But all this is explained once
we have taken cognizance of the nature of these societies, for
then the change is no longer as great as it seems. Individuals,
instead of subordinating themselv^

o rdinat eJ to t hat which represented it, and as th e collect ive
authority, when it was diffuse, was absolute, that of the chief,
who is only its organized incarnation, naturally took bn the same
character.

Rather than dating the effacement of the individual from the
institution of a despotic authority, we must, on the contrary,
see in this institution the first step made towards individualism.
Chiefs are, in fact, the first personalities who emerge from the
social mass._ Their exceptional situation, putting them beyond
the level of others, gives them a distinct physiognomy and
accordingly confers individuality upon them. In dominating
s ociety, the y are no longer force d to follow all of its movements.
Of course, it is f rom the group that they derive their power, but
o nce power is orga nized, it becomes autonomous and makes
t hem capable of personal activity. A source of initiative is thus
opened which had not existed before then. There is, hereafter,
someone who can produce new things and even, in certain meas-
ure, deny collective usages. Equilibrium has been broken.®*

*8 We find here confirmation of a previously enunciated proposition which
makes governmental power an emanation of the inherent life of the collective
conscience.

196

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

Our insistence upon this point was made in order to establish
two important propositions.

In the first place, whenever we find ourselves in the presence
of a governmental system endowed with great authority, we
must seek the reason for it, not in the particular situation of the
governing, but in the nature of the societies they govern. We
must observe the common beliefs, the common sentiments which,
by incarnating themselves in a person or in a family, com-
municate such power to it. As for the personal superiority of
the chief, it plays only a secondary role in this process. It
explains why the collective force is concentrated in his hands
rather than in some others, but does not explain its intensity.
From the moment that this force, instead of remaining diffuse,
becomes delegated, it can only be for the profit of the individuals
who have already otherwise evinced some superiority. But
if such superiority suggests the sense in which the current is
directed, it does not create the current. In Rome if the father
of a family enjoys absolute power, it is not because he is the
oldest, or the wisest, or the most experienced, but because,
according to the circumstances in which the Roman family was
placed, he incarnated the old familial communism. Despotism,
at least when it is not a pathological, decadent phenomenon, is
nothing else than transformed communism.

In the second place, we see from what precedes how false is
the theory which makes egotism the point of departure for
humanity, and altruism only a recent conquest.

What gives this hypothesis authority in the eyes of certain
persons is that it appears to be the logical consequence of the
principles of Darwinism. In the name of the dogma of struggle
for existence and natural selection, they paint for us in the
saddest colors this primitive humanity whose hunger and thirst,
always badly satisfied, were their only passions ; those sombre
times when men had no other care and no other occupation than
to quarrel with one another over their miserable nourishment.
To react against those retrospective reveries of the philosophy
of the eighteenth century and also against certain religious

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 197

doctrines, to show with some force that the paradise lost is not
behind us and that there is in our past nothing to regret, they
believe we ought to make it dreary and belittle it systematically.
Nothing is less scientific than this prejudice in the opposite
direction. If the hypotheses of Darwin have a moral use, it is
with more reserve and measure than in other sciences. They
overlook the essential element of moral life, that is, the moderat-
ing influence that society exercises over its members, which
tempers and neutralizes the brutal action of the struggle for
existence and selection. Wherever there are societies, there is
altruism, because there is solidarity.

Thus, we find altruism from the beginning of humanity and
even in a truly intemperate form. For these privations that
the savage imposes upon himself in obedience to religious tradi-
tion, the abnegation with which he sacrifices his life when society
demands such sacrifice, the irresistible desire of the widow of
India to follow her husband to the grave, of the Gaul not to
survive the head of his clan, of the old Celt to free his compan-
ions from useless trouble by voluntary death, — is not all this
altruism? Shall we treat these practices as superstitions?
What matter, so long as they evince an aptitude for surrendering
oneself ? And where do superstitions begin and end ? It would
be very difficult to reply and to give a scientific answer to this
question. Is it not also a superstition of ours to feel affection
for the places in which we have lived, and for the persons with
whom we have had durable relations? And is not this power
of attachment the mark of a sane moral constitution? To
speak rigorously, our whole sensible life is made up of supersti-
tions, since it precedes and dominates judgment more than it
depends upon it.

, Scientifically, conduct is egotistical in the measure that it is
idetermined by sentiments and representations which are exclu-
f sively personal. If, then, we remember to what extent in lower
societies the conscience of the individual is wrapped in the
collective conscience, we may even be led to believe that it is
a thing totally different from the individual himself, that it is

198

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

completely altruistic, as Condillac would say. This conclusion,

I however, would be exaggerated, for there is a sphere of psychic
life which, however developed the collective type may be, varies
from one man to another and remains peculiar with each. It
is that which is formed by representations, by sentiments and
tendencies which relate to the organism and to the state of the
organism. It is the world of internal and external sensations
and the movements which are directly linked to them. This first
foundation of all individuality is inalienable and does not depend
upon any social state. Thus, one must not say that altruism is
bom from egotism. Such a derivation would be possible only
through a creatio ex nihilo. But, to speak rigorously, these two
sides of conduct are found present from the beginning in all
human consciences, for there cannot be things which do not reflect
both of these aspects, the one relating to the individual alone and
the other relating to the things which are not personal to him.
. All that we can say is that, among savages, this inferior part
of ourselves represents a more considerable fraction of total life,
because this total has a smaller extent, since the higher spheres
of the psychic life are less developed there. It thus has greater
relative importance and, accordingly, greater sway over the will.
But, on the other hand, with respect to what goes beyond this
circle of physical necessities, the primitive conscience, to use a
strong expression of Espinas, is completely outside of itself.
Contrariwise, among the civilized, egotism is introduced in the
midst of higher representations. Each of us has his opinions,
his beliefs, his personal aspirations, and holds to them. It is
even mingled with altruism, for it happens that we have a way
of our own of being altruistic which clings to our personal char-
acter, to the texture of our spirit, and which we refuse to cast
off. Of course, we must not conclude that the place of egotism
has become greater throughout the whole of life, for we must
take account of the fact that the whole conscience has been
extended. It is none the less true that individualism has de-
veloped in absolute value by penetrating into regions which
originally were closed to it. *

PROGRESS OF ORGANIC SOLIDARITY 199

But this individualism, the fruit of an historical development,
is not at all that which Spencer described. The societies that
he calls industrial do not resemble organized societies any more
than military societies resemble segmental societies with a
familial base. That is what we shall see in the following
chapter.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ORGANIC SOLIDARITY AND CONTRACTUAL
SOLIDARITY

I

A

_It_is true that in the industrial societies that Spencer speaks
of,' just as in~brgamzed societres, ^cial harmony comes es-
sentialiy from tjm division of Jabo^ It is characterized by a
co-o pe ration ^ ich is automatically produced through the
pursuit by each individual of his own interests. ' It suffices
that each individual consecrate himself to a special function
in order, by the force of events, to make himself solidary with
others. Is this not the distinctive sign of organized societies?
^ But if Spencer has justly noted what the principal cause of
social solidarity in higher societies is, he has misunderstood
the manner in which this cause produces its effect, and, ac-
cordingly, misunderstood the nature of the latter.

In short, for him, industrial solidarity, as he calls it, presents
^e twp followin g c haract ers :

5^ Since it is spontaneous , it does not require any ^ercive force
either to produce or to 'maintain it. Society does notTiave to
intervene to assure the harmony which is self-established.
Spencer says that each man can maintain himself through his
work, can exchange his produce for the goods of another, can
le^".psisfahCe sLnd receive pa3ment, can enter into some
association for pursuing some enterprise, small or lai^e, without
obeying the direction of society in its totality.* The sphere of
social action wo uld thus grow narrower and narrower, for it
woiJ 3 have no ofEeTotJect "than that of keeping individuals

^ PrindpUa of Sociology, III, pp. 332 ff. * Ibid,, III, p. 808.

200

'contract is irreconcilable w ith the not ion of the division of labor .
The greater the part taken by the latter, the more completely
must Rousseau’s postulate be renounced. For in order for
such a contract to be possible, it is necessary that, at a given
moment, all individual wills direct themselves toward the
common bases of the social organization, and, consequently,
that each particular conscience pose the political problem for
itself in all its generality. But that would make it necessary
for each individual to leave his special sphere, so that all might
equally play the same role, that of statesman and constituents.
Thus, this is the situation wh en society makes a contract: if
adhesion is unanimous, the content of all consciences is identical.
Then, in the measure that social solidarity proceeds from such
a cause, it has no relation with the division of labor.

Nothing, however, less resembles the spontaneous, automatic
solidarity which, according to Spencer, distinguishes industrial
societies, for he sees, on the contrary, in this conscious pursuit
of social ends the characteristic of military societies.® Such a

* Principles of Sociology, II, p. 160.

♦ Ibid., HI. p. 813.

• Ibid., Ill, pp. 332 ff. — See also Man versus the Stale.

202

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

icontract supposes that all individuals are able to-represent in
fthemselves the general conditions of the collective life in order
®to make a choice with knowledge. But Spencer understands
that such a representation goes beyond the bounds of science
in its actual state, and, consequently, beyond the bounds of
conscience. He is so convinced of the vanity of reflection
when it is applied to such matters that he wishes to take them
away even from the legislator, to say nothing of submitting
them to public opinion. /He believes that social life , just as
^11 life in general, can naturally organize itself only by an
/unconscious , spont aneo us adaptation under the immed iate
pres sure of needs, and not according to a ratio nal plan of re-
flective in telligence. He does not believe that higher societies
can be built according to a rigidly drawn program*

/Thus, the conception of a soc ial contract is today difficult
to defend, for it has no relation to the fact s/ The observer
does not meet it along his road, so to speak. / Not only are
there no societies which have such an orig in, but there is none
whose structure presents the least trace of a contractual organ-
ization. /It is neither a fact acquired through history nor a
tendency which grows out of historical development^/ Hence,
to rejuvenate this doctrine and accredit it, it would be necessary
to quaUfy as a contract the adhesion which each individual,
as adult, gave to the society when he was bom, solely by
reason of which he continues to live. But then we would have
to term contractual every action of man which is not deter-
mined by constraint.® In this light, there is no society, neither
present nor past, which is not or has not been contractual, for
there is none which could exist solely through pressure. We have
given the reason for this above. If it has sometimes been
thought that force was greater previously than it is today,
that is because of the illusion which attributes to a coercive
regime the small place given over to individual liberty in lower
societies. ^ In reality, social life, wherever it is normal, is spon-

'This is what Fouill^ does in opposing contract to pressure. {Science
Bceiale, p. 8.)

ORGANIC AND CONTRACTUAL SOLIDARITY 203

taneous, and if it is abnormal, it cannot endure. The individual
abdicates spontaneously. In fact, it is unjust to speak of
abdication where there is nothing to abdicate^jj^ If this large
and somewhat warped interpretation is given to this word,
no distinction can be made between different social types,
and if we understand by type only the very defined juridical
tie which the word designates, we can be sure that no tie of
this kind has ever existed between individuals and society.

/But if higher societies do not rest upon a fundamental con-
t ract which sets forth the general principles of political life,
they would have, or would be considered to have, according
to Spencer, the vast system of particular contracts which link
individuals as a unique basis/ They would depend upon the
group only in proportion to their dependence upon one another,
and they would depend upon one another only in proportion
•to conventions privately entered into and freely concluded.
Social solidarity would then be nothing else than the spon-^,,
taneous accord of individual interests, an accord of which ,
contracts" are the natural expression. The typical social
relation would be the economic, s tripped of a ll regulation and ,
resulting from the entirely free initiative of the parties. In
short, society would be solely the stage where individuals ex-/
changed the products of their labor, without any action properljy
social coming to regulate this exchange.

^ this the c haracter of societies whose unity is product .
by the division of la BOT? If this were so, we" coiHT witif Tusti ce
doubt their stabil ity. For if interest relates men, it is never''
for more than some few moments. It can create only an exter-
nal link between them. In the fact (4 exchange, the various
agents remain outside of each other, and when the business
has been completed, each one retires and is left entirely on his
own. Consciences are only superficially in contact; they
neither penetrate each other, nor do they adhere. If we look
further into the matter, we shall see that this total harmony
of interests conceals a latent or deferred conflict. \For where
interest is the only ruling force each individual tmds him-

204

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

self in a state of war with every other since nothing comes to
mollify the egos, and any truce in this eternal antagonism
would not be of long duration. /I'here is nothing less constant
than interest./^ Today, it unites me to you; tomorrow, it will
make me your enemy. Such a cause can only give rise to
transient relations and passing associations/ We now under-
stand how nec essary it is to see if this is re all y the nature of
organic solida rity .

^n no respect, according to Spencer, does industrial soci ety
exi st in a pure state. It is a partially ideal type which slowly
disengages itself in the evolutionary process, but it has not yet
been completely realized/ Consequently, to rightly attribute
to it the qualities we have just been discussing, we would have
to establish systematically that societies appear in a fashion as
complete as they are elevated, discounting cases of regression.

(it is first affirmed that the sphere of social activity grows
remailer and smaller, to the great advantage of the individual^
But to prove this proposition by^real instances, it is not enough^
•tq^ite, as Spencer does, some cases where the individual has
■'wen effectively emancipated from collective influence. These
Samples, numerous as they may be, can serve only as illus-
^trations, and are, by themselves, devoid of any demonstrative
force. It is very possible that, in this respect, social action
has regressed, but that, in other respects, it has been extended,
and that, ultimately, we are mistaking a transformation for a
disappearance. ^ The only way of giving objective proof is not
>to cite some facts taken at random, but to follow higtoiically,
from its origins until recent times, the way in which social
action has essentially manifested itself, and to see whether,
time, it has added or lost volume^ We know that this is
loaw. T he obligat ions that society imposes upon its membera,
[;as inconsequential ¥nd unenduring as they may be, take on a
[ juridifialjfonn. Consequently, the relative dimensions of this
' system permit us to measure with exactitude the relative extent
of social action.

L '\JI But it is very evident that, far from diminishing, it grows '

ORGANIC AND CONTRACTUAL SOLIDARITY 205

greater and greater and becomes more and more complex.^
The more primitive a code is, the smaller its volume. On the
contrary, it is as large as it is more recent. There can be no
doubt about this/ To be sure, it does not result in making
the sphere of individual activity smaller. We must not forget
that if there is /more regulation in life, there is more life in
general./ This is sufficient proof that social discipline has not
been relaxing. One of its forms tends, it is true, to regress,
as we have already seen, but others, much richer and much
more complex, develop in its place. ( If repressive law loses
ground, restitutive law, which originally did not exist at all,
keeps growing./ If society no longer imposes upon everybody
certain uniform practices, it takes greater care to define and
regulate the special relations between different social functions,
and this activity is not smaller because it is different./

’ I Spencer would reply that he had not insisted upon the diminu-
tion of every kind of control, but only of positive control/ Let
us admit this distinction. Whether it be positive or negative,
the control is none the less social, and the principal question
is to understand whether it has extended itself or contracted.
Whether it be to command or to deny, to say Do this or Do not
do that, if society intervenes more, we have not the right to
say that individual spontaneity suffices more and more in all
spheres. If the rules determining conduct have multiplied,
whether they be imperative or prohibitive, it is not true that
it depends more and more completely on private initiative.

But has this distinction itself any foundation ?‘^y positive
' control, Spencer means that which commands action, while
negative control commands only abstention. '--'As he says : A
man has a piece of land ; I cultivate it for him either wholly
or in part, or else I impose upon him either wholly or in part
the way in which he should cultivate it. This is a positive
control. On the other hand, I give him neither aid nor advice
about its cultivation ; I simply do not molest my neighbor’s
crop, or trespass upon my neighbor’s land, or put rubbish on
his clearing. This is a negative control. The difference is

206 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

very marked between ordering him to follow, as a citizen, a
MJ^certain course, or suggesting means for the citizen to employ,
and, on the other hand, not disturbing the course which some
citizen is pursuing.^ /If such is the meaning of these terms,
the n positive ^ntrol is not disappearing. /

We know, of course, that restitutive law is growing. But,
in the large majority of cases, it either points out' tS a citizen
the course he ought to pursue, or it interests itself in the means
that this citizen is employing to attain his end. It answers the
two following questions for each juridical relation : (1) Under
what conditions and in what form does it normally exist?
(2) What are the obligations it entails? The determination
of the form and the conditions

forces the individual to follow a certain procedure in order to
attain his end. As-for the obligations, if they only forbid, in
principle, our troubling another person in the exercise of his
functions, Spencer’s thesis would be true, at least in part.
, IBut they consist most often in the statement of services of a
'positive nature.

On this point we must go into some detail.

II

t I It is quite true that contiactuaLrelations, which originally
vere rare or completely absent, multiply as social labor becomes
livided. But what Spencer seems to have failed to see is that
l on-contractual relatio ns develop at the same time‘:)|

^irst, let us examine that part of law which is improperly
termed private, and which, in reality, re gulates ji ffuse socia l
fungtioas, or what may be called the visceral life of the social
oiganism.

In the first place, we know that domestic law, as simple as
it was in the beginning, has become more and more-c^nle x.
^That is to say, that the different species of juridical relations
to which family life gives rise are much more numerous than

' Moral Essay $1 p. 194 note.

ORGANIC AND CONTRACTUAL SOLIDARITY 207

heretofore.! But the obligations which result from thia.airi
of an eminently positive nature ; they constitute a reciprocity
of rights and duties. Ivioreover, they are not contr^ctn^ .
at least in their typical form. The conditions "lipoiiwffiw^
tit^^?eoE^ndent are related to our personal status which!
in turn, depends upon birth, on our consanguineous relations,!”
and, consequently, upon facts which are beyond volition. 1

Marmge and adoption, however, are sources of domestic
Wlations, and they are contracts. But it rightly happens |
that the closer we get to the most elevated social types, the
more also do these two juridical operations lose their properly
contractual character.

Not only in lower societies, but in Rome itself until the endi
of the Empire, marriage remains an entirely private affair.i'”^
It generally is a sale, real among primitive people, later Active,
■but valid only through the consent of the parties duly attested.
Neither solemn formalities of any kind nor intervention by
some authority were then necessary. It is only with Christi-
anity that marriage took on another character. The Christians
early got into the habit of having their union consecrated by a
priest. An act of the emperor Leo the Philosopher converted
this usage into a law for the East. The Council of Trent sanc-
tioned it likewise for the West. From then on, marriage ceased
to be freely contracted, and was concluded through the inter-
mediary of a public power, the Church, and the role that the
Church played was not only that of a witness, but it was she
and she alone who created the juridical tie which until then/
the wills of the participants sufficed to establish. We knoW*
how, later, the civil authority was substituted in this function
for the religious authority, and how at the same time the part
played by society and its necessary formalities was extended.*
i^The history of the contract of adoption is still more instruc-
tive.

We have already seen with what facility and on what a large
scale adoption was practiced among the Indian tribes of North

* Of course, the case is the same for the dissolution of the conjug'atbond:

208 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

f

America. It could give rise to all the forms of kinship^/ If
theaHbpted was of the same age as the adopting, they became
brothers and sisters; if the adopted was already a mother,
she became the mother of the one who adopted her.

A mong the Ar abs, before Mohammed, adoption often served
to establish real families.®^ It frequently happened that several
persons would mutually adopt one another. They then became
brothers and sisters, and the kinship which united them was
just as strong as if they had been descended from a common
origin. jWe find the same type of adoption among the Slavs/
Very often,/ the members of different families /became broflfers
and sisters and formed what is called a confraternity/ (pro-
batinstvo). /These societies were contracted for freely and
^without formality; agreement was enough to establish them.
Moreover, the tie which binds these elective brothers is even
stronger than that which results from natural fraternity.^®/
Among the Germans, adoption was probably quite as easy
and frequent. Very simple ceremonies were enough to estab-
lish it.” iBut in India, Greece, and Rome, it was already sub-
ordinated to determined conditions. ) The one adopting had to
be of a certain age, could not stand in such relation to the age of
the adopted that it would be impossible to be his natural father.
Ultimately, this change of family became a highly complex
juridical operation which necessitated the intervention of a
Magistrate. At the same time, the number of those who could
enjoy"~tEe right of adoption became more restricted. Only the
father of a family or a bachelor sui juris could adopt, and the
first could, only if he had no legitimate children.

I In our current law the restrictive conditions have been even
more multiplied. ) The adopted must be of age, the adopting
must be more than fifty years of age, and have long treated the
adopted as his child. We must notice that, thus limited, it has
become a very rare event. Before the appearance of the French

* Smith, Marriage and Kinship in Early Arabia, p. 135. Cambridge, 1885.

Krauas, Siiie und Branch der Sildslaven, ch. xxzi.

'' Viollet, Pricis de Vhisioire du droit frangais, p. 402.

ORGANIC AND CONTRACTUAL SOLIDARITY 209

Code, the whole procedure had almost completely fallen into
disuse, and today it is, in certain countries such as Holland and
lower Canada, not permitted at all.

I At the same time that it became more rare, adoption lost its
efficacy In the beginning, adoptive kinship was in all respects
similar to natural kinship.| In Rome, the similarity was still
very great. It was no longer, however, a perfect identity.'*^ In
the sixteenth century, the adopted no longer has the right of
succession if the adoptive father dies intestate.'f The French
Code has re-established this right, but the kinship to which the
adoption gives rise does not extend beyond the adopting and the
adopted.

We see how insufficient the traditional explanation is, which
attributes this custom of adoption among ancient societies to
the need of assuring the perpetuity of the ancestral cult. The
•peoples who have practiced it in the greatest and freest manner,
as the Indians of America, the Arabs, the Slavs, had no such
cult, and, furthermore, at Rome and Athens, where domestic
religion was at its height, this law is for the first time submitted
to control and restrictions. If it was able to satisfy these needs,
it was not established to satisfy them, and, inversely, if it tends
to disappear, it is not because we have less desire to perpetuate
our name and our race, ilt is in the structure of actual societies
and in the place which the family occupies that we must seek the
I determining cause for this change.'

Another proof of the truth of this is that it has become even
more impossible to leave a family by an act of private authority
than to enter into it. As the kinship-tie does not result from a
contract, it cannot be broken as a contract can.i Among the
Iroguois, we sometimes see a part of a clan leave to go to join a
neighboring clan.Y Among the Slavs, a member of the Zadruga
who is tired of the common lili can separate himself from the
rest of the family and become a juridical stranger to it, even as

** Accarias, Pricis de droit romain, I, pp. 240 ff .

” Viollet, op. dt., p. 406.

Ancient Society, p. 81.

210

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

he can be excluded by it.“ Among the Geimans, a ceremony of
some slight complexity permitted every Frank who so desired to
completely drop off all kinship-obligations.*® | Injlome, the son
could not leave the family of his own will, and by this sign we
recognize a more elevated social type, j But the tie that the son
could not break could be broken by the father. Thus was
emancipation possible. Today neither the father nor the son
can alter the na^ral _state of domestic relations. They rema in
as birth determinea. ±b«wB-;

In short, at the same time that domestic_obIi gations become
more numerous, they take oh, as Ts said, a public character.
Not only in early times do they not have a contractual origin,
but the role which contract plays in them becomes ever smaller.
On the contrary, social control over the manner in which they
form, break down, and are modified, becomes greater. The
reason lies in the progressive effacement of segmental organiza-
'tion. The family, in lruth, is for a long time a veritable social
se^ent. In origin, it confounds itself with the clan. If, later,
it becomes distinguished from the clan, it is as a part of the
whole. It is a product of a secondary segmentation of the clan,
identical with that which has given birth to the clan itself, and
when the latter has disappeared, it still keeps the same quality.
But everything segmental tends to be more and more reabsorbed
into the social mass. That is why the family is forced to trans-
form itself. ^ Instead ofr emainifig an autonomous society along
side of the great society, iFbecomes more and more involved in
t he'gfstem'of social organs. It even becomes one of the organs,
jpharged with specml functions, and, accordingly, everything
aEaf” happensT witEn it i s capa ble of g^eral_ repercussions.
That is what brings it about tWt the regulative organs of society
pare forced to intervene in order to exercise a moderating in-
fluence over the functioning of the family, or even, in certain
cases, a positively arousing influence.*^

“ Krauss, op. cit., pp. 113 ff.

Salic Law, LX.

For example, in cases of guardianship, of interdiction, where public authority
sometimes intervenes officially. The progress of this regulatory action does not

ORGANIC AND CONTRACTUAL SOLIDARITY 211

But it is not only outside of contractual relations, it is in the
play of these relations themselves that social action makes itself
felt. For everything in the contract is not contractual; The
only engagements which deserve this name are those which have ‘
been desired by the individuals and which have no other origin
except in this manifestation of free will. Inversely, every
obligation which has not been mutually consented to has noth-
ing TOhtfaclual about it. But wherever a contract eMsts» it is
subimtted~to reg ulation whicFTs the work of society, and not
that of individuals, and which becomes ever more voluminous
and more compHcalwl. ’ ~

I It IS true that the contracting parties can, in certain respects,
arrange to act contrary to the dispositions of the law.\ But, of
course, their rights in this regard are not unlimited. For ex-
ample, the agreement of the parties cannot make a contract
.valid if it does not satisfy the conditions of validity required by
law. To be sure, in the great majority of cases, a contract is no
longer restricted to determined forms. Still it must not be for-
gotten that there are in our Codes solemn contracts. But if law
no longer has the formal exigencies of yesterday, it subjects con-
tracts to obligations of a different sort. It refuses all obligatory
force to engagements contracted by an incompetent, or without
object, or with illicit purpose, or made by a person who cannot
sell, or transacted over an article which cannot be sold. Among
the obligations which it attaches to various contracts, there are
some which cannot be changed by any stipulation. Thus, a
vendor cannot fail in his obligation to guarantee the purchaser
against any eviction which results from something personal to
the vendor (art. 1628) ; he cannot fail to repay the purchase-
price in case of eviction, whatever its origin, provided that the
buyer has not known of the danger (art. 1629), nor to set forth

deny the regression, mentioned above, of collective sentiments which concern the
family. On the contrary, the first phenomenon supposes the other, for, in order
for the sentiments to diminish or become enfeebled, the family must have had to
cease to confound itself with society and constitute itself as a sphere of personal
action, distinct from the common conscience. But this transformation was
necessary in its becoming an organ of society, since, as an organ, it is an indi-
vidualized part of society.

212

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

clearly what is being contracted for (art. 1602). Indeed, in a
certain measure, he cannot be exempt from guaranteeing against
hidden defects (arts. 1641 and 1643), particularly when known.
If it is a question of 6xtures, it is the buyer who must not profit
from the situation by imposing a price too obviously below the
real value of the thing (art. 1674), etc. Moreover, everything
that relates to proof, the nature of the actions to which the con-
tract gives a right, the time in which they must be begun, is
absolutely independent of individual transactions.
f In other cases social action does not manifest itself only by
the refusal to recognize a contract formed in violation of the law,
but by a positive intervention.) Thus, the judge can, whatever
the terms of the agreement, grant a delay to a debtoi\ (arts. 1184,
1244, 1655, 1900), or even oblige the borrower to restore the
article to the lender before the term agreed upon, if the latter has
pressing need of it (art. 1189). But what shows better than
anything else that contracts give rise to obligations which have
not been contracted for is that they “make obligatory not only
what there is expressed in them, but also all consequences which
equity, usage, or the law imputes from the nature of the obliga-
tion” (art. 1135). In virtue of this principle, there must be
supplied in the contract “clauses pertaining to usage, although
they may not be expressed therein” (art. 1160).

But even if social action should not express itself in this way,
it would not cease to be real. This possibility of derogating
the law, which seems to reduce the contractual right to the role
of eventual substitute for contracts properly called, is, in the
very great majority of cases, purely theoretical. We can con-
vince ourselves of this by showing what it consists in.

To be sure, when men unite in a contract, it is because,
through the division of labor, either simple or complex, they
need each other. But in order for them to co-operate harmo-
niously, it is not enough that they enter into a relationship, nor
even that they feel the state of mutual dependence in which
they find themselves. It is still necessary that the conditions
of this co-operation be fixed for the duration of their relations.

ORGANIC AND CONTRACTUAL SOUDARITY 213

I The rights and duties of each must be defined, not only in view
of the situation such as it presents itself at the moment when
the contract is made, but with foresight for the circumstances
which may arise to modify it. Otherwise, at every instant,
there would be conflicts and endless difficultiesji We must not
forget that, if the division of labor makes interests solidary, it
does not confound them ; it keeps them distinct and opposite.'
Even as in the internal workings of the individual organism
each organ is in conflict with others while co-operating with
them, each of the contractants, while needing the other, seeks
to obtain what he needs at the least expense ; that is to say, to
acquire as many rights as possible in exchange for the smallest
possible obligations.

I It is necessary therefore to pre-determine the share of each, but
this cannot be done according to a preconceived planl There is
•nothing in the nature of things from which one can deduce what
the obligations of one or the other ought to be until a certain
limit is reached. Every determination of this kind can only
result in compromise. It is a compromise between the rivalry
of interests present and their solidarity. It is a position of
equilibrium which can be found only after more or less laborious
experiments. But it is quite evident that we can neither begin
these experiments over again nor restore this equilibrium at
fresh expense every time that we engage in some contractual
relation. We lack all ability to do that. It is not at the mo-
ment wlien difficulties surge upon us that we must resolve
them, and, moreover, we can neither foresee the variety of pos-
sible circumstances in which our contract will involve itself, nor
fix in advance with the aid of simple mental calculus what will
be in each case the rights and duties of each, save in matters in
which we have a very definite experience. Moreover, the
material conditions of life oppose themselves to the repetition
of such operations. For, at each instant, and often at the most
inopportune, we find ourselves contracting, either for something
we have bought, or sold, somewhere we are traveling, our hir-
ing of one’s services, some acceptance of hostelry, etc. The

214

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

greater part of our relations with others is of a contractual
nature. If, then, it were necessary each time to begin the
struggles anew, to again go through the conferences necessary
to establish firmly all the conditions of agreement for the
present and the future, we would be put to rout. ^For all these
reasons, if we were linked only by the terms of our contracts, as
they are agreed upon, only a precarious solidarity would result.

JBut contract-law is that which determines the juridical con-
sequences of our acts that we have not determined. It ex-
presses the normal conditions of equilibrium, as they arise from
themselves or from the average./ A rdsum6 of numerous, varied
experiences, what we cannot foresee individually is there pro-
vided for, what we cannot regulate is there regulated, and this
regulation imposes itself upon us, although it may not be our
handiwork, but that of society and tradition. It forces us to
assume obligations that we have not contracted for, in the exact
sense of the word, since we have not deliberated upon them, nor
even, occasionally, had any knowledge about them in advance.
Of course, the initial act is always contractual, but there are
consequences, sometimes immediate, which run over the limits
of the contract. We co-operate because we wish to, but our
voluntary co-operation creates duties for us that we did not
desire!

From this point of view, the law of contracts appears in an
entirely different light. 1 It is no longer simply a useful comple-
ment of individual conventions ; it is their fundament al normj
I mposing itself upon us wi th th e authority of traditional
exper ie nce, i t constitutes the foundation of our contractual
relations, t We cannot evade it, except partially and acci-
dentally. ^The law confers its rights upon us and subjects us to
duties deriving from such acts of our will.) We can, in certain
cases, abandon them or change them for others. But both are
none the less the normal type of rights and duties which cir-
cumstance lays upon us, and an express act is necessary for
their modification. Thus, modifications are relatively rare.
/In principle, the rule applies; innovations are exceptional.^

ORGANIC AND CONTRACTUAL SOLIDARITY 215

ff'he law of contra cts exerc ises o ver us a regulativ e force of the
[g reatest importance, since it dete rmines what we ought to do
/ and what we can require . It is a law which can be changed only
by the consent of the parties, but so long as it is not abrogated or
replaced, it guards its authority, and, moreover, a legislative act
can be passed only in rare cases. There is, then, only a difference
of degree between the law which regulates the obligations which
7 that contract engenders and those which fix the other duties of
citizens.

Finally, besides this organized, defined pressure which law
exercises, there is one which comes from custopi. In the way in
which we make our contracts and in which we execute them, wo
are held to conform to rules which, though not sanctioned either
directly or indirectly by any code, are none the less imperative.
There are professional obligations, purely moral, which are,
/however, very strict. They are particularly apparent in the
so-called li beral pr ofessionsi and if they are perhaps less numer-
ous in others, there is place for demanding them, as we shall see,
if such demand is not the result of a morbid condition. But if
this action is more diffuse than the preceding, it is just as social.
Moreover, it is necessarily as much more extended as the con-
tractual relations are more developed, for it is diversified like
contracts.

I n sum , a contract is not suffic ie nt unto itself, bu t is possible
o nly t hanks toji regulation of the_ contract which is originally
social . *Jt is implied, first, because it has for its function much
less the creation of new rules than the diversification in particu-
lar cases of pre-established rules ; then, because it has and can
have the power to bind only under certain conditions which it is
necessary to define. If, in principle, society lends it an obliga-
tory force, it is because, in general, the accord of particular wills
suffices to assure, with the preceding reservations, the harmo-
nious coming together of diffuse social functions. But if it
conflicts with social purposes, if it tends to trouble the regular
operation of organs, if, as is said, it is not just, it is necessary,
while depriving it of all social value, to strip it of all authority

216

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

as well. The role of society is not, then, in any case, simply to
see passively that contracts are earned” ouE IFTs dl^6 tO de-
termine under what conditions they_are executabie^XnJTf it is
necessary, to resto re them to their nonnallq^m. ^ The agreement
of parties cannot render a clause just which by itself is unjust,
and there are rules of justice whose violation social justice pre-
vents, even if it has been consented to by the interested parties.

I A regulation whose extent cannot be limited in advance is
thus necessary. I A contract, says Spencer, has for its object
assuring the worker the equivalent of the expense which his
work has cost him.^® If such is truly the role of a contract, it
will never be able to fulfill it unless it is more minutely regulated
than it is today, for it surely would be a miracle if it succeeded
in bringing about this equivalence. In fact, it is as much the
gain which exceeds the expense, as the expense which exceeds
the gain, and the disproportion is often striking. But, replies
a whole school, if the gains are too small, the function will be
abandoned for others. If they are too high, they will be sought
after and this will diminish the profits. It is forgotten that one
whole part of the population cannot thus quit its task, because
no other is accessible to it. The very ones who have more
liberty of movement cannot replace it in an instant. Such
revolutions always take long to accomplish. While waiting,
unjust contracts, unsocial by definition, have been executed
with the agreement of society, and when the equilibrium in this
respect has been reestablished, there is no reason for not break-
ing it for another.

1 There is no need for showing that this intervention, under its
different forms, is of an eminently positive nature, since it has
for its purpose the determination of the way in which we ought
to co-operate.) It is not it, it is true, which gives the impulse to
the functions concurring, but once the concourse has begun, it
rules it. As soon as we have made the first step towards co-
operation, we are involved in the regulative action which society
exercises over us. |If Spencer qualified this as negative, it is
In his work on ethics.

ORGANIC AND CONTRACTUAL SOLIDARITY 217

because, for him, contract consists only in exchange} But,
even from this point of view, the expression he employs is not
exact. No doubt, when, after having an object delivered, or
profiting from a service, I refuse to furnish a suitable equivalent,
I take from another what belongs to him, and we can say that
society, by obliging me to keep my promise, is only prevent-
ing an injury, an indirect aggression. But if I have simply
promised a service without having previously received remunera-
tion, I am not less held to keep my engagement. In this case,
however, I do not enrich myself at the expense of another; I
only refuse to be useful to him. I Moreover, exchange, as we
have seen, is not all there is to a contract. There is also the
proper harmony of functions concurring} They are not only
in contact for the short time during which things pass from
one hand to another ; but more extensive relations necessarily
result from them, in the course of which it is important that
their solidarity be not troubled.

I Even the biological comparisons on which Spencer willingly
•bases his theory of free contract are rather the refutation of it.
He compares, as we have done, economic functions to the
visceral life of the individual organism, and remarks that the
latter does not directly depend upon the cerebro-spinal system,
but upon a special system whose principal branches are the
great sympathetic and the pneumo-gastric. But if from this
comparison he is permitted to induce, with some probability,
that%conomic functions are not of a kind to be placed under the
immediate influence of the social brain, it does not follow that
they can be freed of all regulative influences, for, if the great
sympathetic is, in certain measure, independent of the brain, it
dominates the movements of the Visceral system just as the
brain does those of the muscles. If, then, there is in society a
system of the same kind, it must have an analogous action over
the organs subject to it.

What corresponds to it, according to Spencer, is this exchange
of information which takes place unceasingly from one place to
another through supply and demand, and which, accordingly,

218

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

stops or stimulates production.^® But there is nothing here
which resembles a regulatory action. To transmit a new move-
ment is not to command movements. This function pertains
to the afferent nerves, but it has nothing in common with that
of the nerve-ganglia. It is the latter which exercise the domi-
nation of which we have been speaking. Interposed in the path
of sensations, it is exclusively through their mediation that the
latter reflect themselves in movements. Very probably, if the
study were more advanced, we would see that their role, whether
they are central or not, is to assure the harmonious concourse of
the functions that they govern, which would at every instant be
disorganized if it had to vary with each variation of the excita-
tory impressions. The great social s3Tnpathetic must, then,
comprise, besides a system of roads for transmission, organs
truly regulative which, charged to combine the intestinal acts
as the cerebral ganglion combines the external acts, would have
the power either to stop the excitations, or to amplify them, or
to moderate them according to need.

This comparison induces us to think that the regulative action
to which economic life is actually submitted is not what it should
normally be. Of course, it is not nil ; we have just shown that.
Either it is diffuse, or else it comes directly from the State. We
will with difficulty find in contemporary societies regulative
centres analogous to the ganglia of the great ssunpathetic.
Assuredly, if this doubt had no other basis than the lack of S3nn-
metry between the individual and society, it would not merit any
attention. But it must not be forgotten that up until recent
times these intermediary organizations existed ; they were the
bodies of workers. We do not have to discuss here their ad-
vantages or disadvantages. Moreover, it is difficult to be
objective about such discussion, for we cannot settle questions
of practical utility without regard to personal feeUngs. But
because of this fact alone, that an institution has been necessary
to societies for centuries, it appears improbable that it should
all at once fall away. No doubt, societies have changed, but it

'* Moral Essaya, p. 187.

ORGANIC AND CONTRACTUAL SOLIDARITY 219 .

is legitimate to presume a priori that the changes through which
they have passed demand less a radical destruction of this type
of organization than a transformation. In any case, we have
not hved under present conditions long enough to know if this
state is normal and definitive or simply accidental and morbid.
Even the uneasiness which is felt during this epoch in this sphere
of social life does not seem to prejudge a favorable reply. We
shall find in the rest of this work other facts which confirm this
presumption.^®

Ill

Finally, there is administrative law . We give this name to
the totality of rules which determine, first, the functions of the
central organ and their relations; then, the functions of the
organs which are immediately subordinate to the first, their
relations with one another, their relations with the first and with
the diffuse functions of society. If we again borrow biological
terminology which, though metaphorical, is none the less useful,
we may say that these rules determine the way in which the
cerebro-spinal system of the social organism functions. This
system, in current parlance, is designated by the name. State.

There is no contesting the fact that social action which is
thus expressed has a positive natm-e. In effect, its object is to
the manne r in which these sp ecial f un ctions must co-operate;^
In certain respects, it even imposes such co-operation, for these
various organs c an be held t ogether only with help imperatively
^ demanded of each citizen . But, according to Spencer, this
regulative system would be regressing as the industrial t3pe
gains sway over the military type, and finally the functions of
the State would be reduced solely to administering justice.

The reasons employed in support of this proposition, how-
ever, are remarkably poor ; they consist almost completely of a
short comparison between England and France, and between
England of yesterday and today. It is from this that Spencer

*® See Book III, ch. i. — See particularly the preface [to the second edition —
G. S.J where we have expressed ourselves more explicitly on this point.

220

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

'claims to induce his general law of historical development.”
The standards of proof, however, are not different in sociology
from those in other sciences. To prove an hypothesis is not to
show that it accounts very well for certain facts considered
appropriate; one must make experiments with method. It
must be shown that the phenomena between which we are
establishing a relation either concur universally, or cannot exist
one without the other, or that they vary in the same sense and in
direct relationship. But some few examples thrown together
in helter-skelter fashion do not constitute proof.

These facts taken by themselves do not prove anything of the
kind. All that they prove is that the place of the individual
becomes greater and the governmental power becomes less
absolute. But there is no contradiction in the fact that the
sphere of individual action grows at the same time as that of the
State, or that the functions which are not made immediately
dependent upon the central regulative system develop at the
same time as it. Moreover, a power can be at once absolute
and very simple. Nothing is less complex than the despotic
government of a barbarian chief. The functions he fills are
rudimentary and not very numerous. That is because the
directive organ of social life can absorb all these in itself, without
on that account being very highly developed if social life itself
is not very highly developed. This organ exerts an exceptional
force upon the rest of society, because there is nothing to hold it
in check or to neutralize it. But it can very well happen that it
takes up more volume at the same time that other organs are
formed which balance it. It suffices on this account that
the total volume pf the organism be increased. No doubt, the
action that it exerts under these conditions is no longer of the
same nature, but the points at which it exercises its power have
multiplied, and if it is less violent, it still imposes itself quite as
formally. Acts of disobedience to constituted authority are no
longer treated as sacrilegious, nor, consequently, repressed with
the same severity. But they are not tolerated any the more,

” PrindpUa of Sociology, III, pp. 822-834.

ORGANIC AND CONTRACTUAL SOLIDARITY 221

and these orders are more numerous and govern very different
types. But the question which is posed is that of finding out,
not if the coercive power which this regulative system dispenses
is more or less intense, but whether this system itself has become
more or less voluminous.

Once the problem has been thus formulated, there can be no
doubt as to the solution. \ History surely shows, in very sys-
tematic fashion, that administrative law is as much more
developed as societies approach a more elevated type.) On the
other hand, the farther back to origins we go, the more rudi-
mentary is this type of law. The ideal State of Spencer is really
the primitive form of the State. In fact, the only functions
which normally pertain to the State in English philosophy are
those relating to justice and to war, in the measure at least to
which war is necessary. In lower societies, the State does not
effectively play any other role. To be sure, these functions are
not there conceived as they are now, but they are no different
because of that. The whole tyrannical intervention which
Spencer notes there is only one of the ways in which judicial
power is exercised. In repressing attacks against religion,
etiquette, against traditions of all sorts, the State fills the same
office that judges do today when they protect the lives and
property of individuals. But these duties become more and
more numerous and varied as we approach higher social t 3 rpes.
The very organ of justice, which is originally very simple, more
andfc>-more moves towards differentiation. Various tribunals
grow up, distinct magistracies are set up, the respective role of
each is determined through its relations with others. A multi-
tude of functions which were diffuse become concentrated.
The care of educating the young, of protecting the public
health, of presiding over the ways of administering public aid,
of administering the means of transport and communication,
little by little move over into the sphere of the central organ.
Accordingly, the central organ develops and, at the same time,
it progressively extends a more compact system over the whole
surface of the territory, a system more and more complex with

222 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

^unifications which displace or assimilate pre-existing local
organs. Statistical services keep it informed of everything
important that goes on in the organism. The system of inter-
national relations, that is, diplomacy, takes on greater and
greater proportions. As institutions, such as great credit-
establishments, are formed, having a general interest because of
their dimensions and proportional multiplicity of function, the
State exercises a moderating influence over them. Finally,
even the military system, whose regression Spencer affirms,
seemS to develop and centralize itself in an uninterrupted
manner.

This evolution is proved by so many evidences from historical
fact that we do not think it necessary to go into any further
detail in proof of it. If we compare tribes devoid of all central
authority with centralized tribes, and the latter to the city, the
city to feudal societies, feudal societies to present societies, we
follow, step by step, the principal stages of development whose
general march we have just traced, It is thus contrary to all
method to regard the present dimensions of the governmental
oi^an as a symptom of social illness, due to a concourse of
accidental circumstances. Everything forces us to see in it a
normal phenomenon, which holds even of the structure of higher
societies, since it progresses in a perfectly continuous way, as
societies tend to approach this typ^.

We can, moreover, show, at least in the large, how this results
from the very progress of the division of labor and from the
transformation which effects the passage of societies from a
segmental type to an organized type.

As each segment has its life peculiar to it, it forms a small
society within the great, and has, consequently, its own regula-
tive organs, just as the great society. But their yitality is
necessarily proportional to the intensity of this local life. They
cannot fail to weaken when it is itself weakened. But we know
that this enfeeblement is produced with the progressive efface-
ment of segmental organization. The central organ, finding
less resistance before it, since the forces which held it in check

ORGANIC AND CONTRACTUAL SOLIDARITY 223

have lost their energy, develops and takes unto itself these
functions, similar to those which it exercises, but which can no
longer be held by those who formerly held them. These local
organs, instead of holding to their individuality and remaining
diffuse, become confounded in the central system which grows
accordingly, grows in proportion to the vastness of society and
the completeness of the fusion. That is to say, it is as much
more voluminous as societies are of a more elevated type.

This phenomenon is produced with mechanical necessity, and,
moreover, it is useful, for it corresponds to the new state of
things. (In the measure that society ceases to be formed by a
repetition of similar segments, the regulative system must itself
cease to be formed by a repetition of segmental, autonomous
organs.V We do not wish to imply, however, that the State
normalty absorbs into itself all the regulative organs of society
no matter what they are, but only those which are of the same
type as its own ; that is to say, those which preside over life in
general. As for those which take care of special functions, such
as economic functions, they are outside its sphere of influence.
It can even produce among them coalescence of the same kind,
but not between them and it, or at least, if they are within the
power of superior authorities, they remain distinct from them.
Among the vertebrates, the cerebro-spinal system is very highly
developed. It has influence over the great sympathetic, but it
permits this latter great autonomy.

Ifc* the second place, when society is made up of segm ents,
whatever is produced in one of t h e segm ents has a s litt le chance
of re -e choing in the others as the segmental organ ization is
strong. The cellular system naturally lends itself to the local-
izat ion of social events and their consequents. Thus it happens
that in a colony of polyps one of the individuals can be sick with-
out the others feeling it. This is no longer true when society is
ma de up of a system of organs. According to their mutual
dependence, w hat stri kes one stri kes the others, and thus every
chapge, even slightly significant, takes o n a general interest.

This generalization is f urther validated by two other circum-

224

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

stances. The more divided labor is, the less each socia l organ
consists of distinct parts. > As large-scale industry is substituted
for small, the number of different enterprises grows less. Each
has more relative importance, because it represents a greater
fraction of the whole. Whatever happens therein has much
more extensive social repercussions. The closing of a small
shop causes very little trouble, which is felt only within small
compass. The failure of a great industrial company results, on
the contrary, in public distress. Moreover, as the progress of
the division of labor demands a very great concentration of the
social mass, there is between the different parts of the same
tissue, of the same organ, or the same system, a more intimate
contact which makes happenings much more contagious. A
movement in one pa rt rapidly communicates itself to others.
We need only look at how speedily a strike becomes general
today in the same body of workers. But distress of some gen-
eral scope cannot be produced without affecting the higher
centres. These, being badly affected, are forced to intervene,
and this intervention is more frequent as the social type is more
elevated. But, on that accoun t, it is necessary that they be
organized . They must extend their ramifications in all di-
rections in such a way as to be in relation with different regions
of the organism, also in such manner as to hold in immediate
dependence certain organs whose free play would, on occasion,
have exceptionally grave repercussions. In s hort, since them
functions become more numerous and comple x, it is n ecessa ry
for~the organ which serves as their foundation to develop, just
as the body of juridical rules which de termine them.

To the reproach often leveled against him for contradicting
his own doctrine by admitting that the development of the
higher centres has been accomplished in a sense inverse in
societies and organisms, Spencer replies that the different varia-
tions of the organ are linked to corresponding variations of the
function. According to him, the essential role of the cerebro-
spinal system would be to regulate the relations of the individual
with the outside world, to combine movements either for grasp-

ORGANIC AND CONTRACTUAL SOLIDARITY 225

ing booty or escaping the enemy.-^ As a system of attack and
defense, it is naturally very voluminous among the most ele-
vated organisms where the external relations are themselves
very developed. Such is the case in military societies which
live in a state of chronic hostility with their neighbors. On the
contrary, among industrial peoples war is the exception ; social
interests are principally of an internal order ; the external regu-
lative system, no longer having the same reason for existence,
necessarily regresses.

But this explanation rests on a double error.

First, every organism, whether or not it has predatory in-
stincts, lives in an environment with which it has relations as
much more numerous as it is more complex. If, then, the
relations of hostility diminish in the measure that societies
become more pacific, they are replaced by others. Industrial
peoples have a commerce developed differently from that which
lower peoples have with one another, as bellicose as they are.
We are speaking, not of the commerce which is established
between individuals, but of that which unites social bodies
together. Each society has general interests to defend against
other societies, if not through force of arms, at least through
negotiations, coalitions, treaties.

Moreover, it is not true that the brain presides over only
external relations. Not only can it modify the state of the
organs through means wholly internal, but even when it acts
externally, it exercises its action within. Even the most internal
viscera cannot function without the aid of materials which come
from without, and as the brain sovereignly takes care of these
materials, it thus has an influence over the total organism at
all times. The stomach, it is said, has nothing to do with this
order, but the presence of food is enough to excite peristaltic
movements. If food is present, however, the brain has willed it,
and the food is there in the quantity that it has fixed and the
quality it has chosen. It does not command the beatings of the
heart, but it can, by appropriate treatment, retard or accelerate

** Moral Essays, p. 179.

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

/

them. There are not many tissues which do not undergo some
one of the disciplines that it imposes, and the empire that it
rules is as much more extensive and profound as the animal is of
a more elevated type. Its true role is presiding, not only over
relations from without, but over the totality of life. Its func-
tion is as complex as life itself is rich and concentrated. The
same is true of societies. The governmental organ is more or
less considerable, not because the people are more or less
pacific, but rather because its growth is proportional to the
progress of the division of labor, societies comprising more dif-
ferent organs the more intimately solidary they are.

/ IV

The following propositions sum up the first part of our work.

^ ^cml life co mes f rom a double source, the likeness of con-
sciences and the division of social labor. The individual is
SOCtalilsSiilli the' firat case, because, not having any real indi-
vi dualit y, he fecongies* with tho^ whom he resembles, part of
the same collective type; in the second case, because, while
ha ^g ~a physiognomy and a personal activity which dis-
tinguishes him from others, he depends upon them in the same
m easure~1hat he is dlsti^ished from them, and consequently
upon the societyjv^hich results from their union.

The similitude of consciences gives rise to juridical rules
which , with the threat of repressive measures, impose uniform
beliefs anff practices upon Jill. The more pronounced this is,
the mare'cmnpetely is social life confounded with religious life,
anBThe hearer to communism are economic institutions,
v'The division of labor gives rise to juridical rules which de-
termine the nature and the relations of divided functions, but
whose violation calls forth only restitutive measures without
any expiatory character,

v^ach of these bodies of juridical rules is, moreover, accom-
panied by a body of purely moral rules. Where penal law is
very voluminous, common morality is very extensive ; that is
to say, there is a multitude of collective practices placed under

ORGANIC AND CONTRACTUAL SOLIDARITY 227

the protection of public opinion. Where restitutive law is
highly developed, there is an occupational morality for each
profession. In the interior of the same group of workers, there
exists an opinion, diffuse in the entire extent of this circum-
scribed aggregate, which, without being furnished with legal
sanctions, is rendered obedience. There are usages and customs
common to the same order of functionaries which no one of them
can break without incurring the censure of the corporation.*®
This morality is distinguished from the preceding by differences
analogous to those which separate the two corresponding types
of law. It is localized in a limited region of society. Moreover,
the repressive character of the sanctions attaching to it is much
less accentuated. Professional misdeeds call forth reprobation
much more feeble than attacks against public morality. tX
The rules of occupational morality and justice, however, are
as imperative as the others. They f orce the indiyidual_tp aot in
view of e nds which are not strictly his own^ to mak e concessi ons,
t o consen t to compromises, to take into accountjnte^restsjiigher
t han h i s ow n. Consequently, even where society relies most
completely upon the div ision of labor,, it.does not become a
jumble of juxtaposed atoms, between which it can establish only
external, transient contacts. Rather the members a re un ited
b y ties which extend deepe r and far beyond the short mo ment s
duri ng which the e xchange is made. Each of the functions that
they exercise is, in a fixed way, dependent upon others, and with
them forms a solidary system. Accordingly, from the nature of
the ch osen t ask permanent duties arise. Because we fill some
certain domestic or social function, we are involved in a complex
of obligations from which we have no rig ht to free ourse lves.
There is, alaove all, an organ upon which we are tending to
depend more and more ; this is the.State. The points at which
we are in contact with it multiply as do the occasions when it
is entrusted with the duty of reminding us of the sentiment of
common solidarity. '

This censure, moreover, just as all moral punishment, is translated into
external movements (discipline, dismissal of employees, loss of relations, etc.)*

228

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

yThus, altruism is not destined to become, as Spencer desires,
a sort of agreeable ornament to social life, but it will forever be
its fundamental basis. How can we ever really dispense with
it? Men cannot live together without acknowledging, and,
consequently, making mutual sacrifices , without tying them-
selves to one another with strong, durable bonds. Every
society is a moral society. In certain respects, this character
is even more pronounced in organized societies. Because the
in dividual is n ot sufficient unto h imself, it is from society that
he receives everjdhing necessary, to him, as it is for societylliat
lie works. Thus is formed a very strong sentiment of the state
oF dependenpe jn which he .finds himself. JHe becomes ac-
customed to estimating it at its just value, that is to say, in
regarding; himself .as part of a whole, the organ of.an organism.
Such sentiments naturally inspire not only mundane sacrifices
which assure the regular dw^opment of daily social life, but
even, on occasion, a,cts of complete self-renunciation and whole-
sale abnegation. On its side, society learns to regard its
members no longer as things over which it has rights, but as
co-operators whom it cannot neglect and towards whom it owes
duties. Thus, it is wrong to oppose a society which comes from
a community of beliefs to one which has a co-operative basis,
according only to the first a moral character, and seeing in the
latter only an economic grouping. I n reality, co-onerat.ion also
h as its intrinsic moralit y. There is, however, reason to believe,
as we shall see later, that in contemporary societies this morality
has not yet reached the high development which would now
seem necessary to it..^

^But it is not of the same nature as the other. The other is
strong only if the individual is not. Made up of rules which are
practiced by all indistinctly, it receives from this universal,
uniform practice an authority which bestows something super-
human upon it, and which puts it beyond the pale of discussion.
The co-opera tive society, on the cont rary, d evelops in th e
measure that in dividual per^nalityT beco mes strongey . As
reguiati^ as a function may be, there is a large place always left

ORGANIC AND CONTRACTUAL SOLIDARITY 229

for pers ona l initiative. A great many of the obligations thus
sanctioned have their o rigin in a choice of the will. It is we who
nhoosg our professions, and even certain of our domestic func-
tions. ^ course, once our re.solution has ceased to be internal
and ha^een externally translated by social consequences, we
are tied down"^ Duties are imposed upon us that we have not
expressly desired. It is, however, throiigh a voluntary act that
this has taken place. Finally, because these rules of conduct
relate, not to the conditions of common life, but to the different
forms of professional activity, they have a more temporal
character, which, while lessening their obligatory force, renders
them more accessible to the action of men.

There are, then, t wo great currents o f social lif^to which two
t jpes of stru cture, not less different, correspond. "

Of these currents^ that which has its origin in social simili-
•tudes first runs on alone and without a rival. At this moment,
it confounds itself with the very life of society ; then, little by
little, it canalizes, rarefies, while the second is always growing.
Indeed, the segmental structure is more and more covered over
by the other, but without ever completely disappearing.

We have just established the reality of this relation of inverse
variation. We shall find the causes for it in the following book.

BOOK TWO

CAUSES AND CONDITIONS

CHAPTER ONE

THE PROGRESS OF THE DIVISION OF LABOR
AND OF HAPPINESS

What causes have brought about the progress of the division
of labor?

To be sure, this cannot be a question of finding a unique
formula which takes into account all the possible modalities of
the division of labor. Such a formula does not exist. Each
P3,rticular circumstance depends upon particular causes that
can only be determined by special examination. The problem
we are raising is less vast. If one takes away the various forms
the division of labor assumes according to conditions of time
and place, there remains the fact that it advances regularly in
history. This fact certainly depends upon equally constant
causes which we are going to seek.

These causes cannot consist in an anticipated idea of thej
effects the division of labor produces in its contribution towards
maintaining societies in equilibrium. That is a repercussion
too remote to be understood by everyone. Most are unaware
of it. In any case, it could only have become evident when
the division of labor was already greatly advanced.

According to the most widely disseminated theory, it has its
origin in man’s unceasing desire to increase his happiness. It
is known, indeed, that the more work is specialized, the higher
the yield. The resources put at our disposal are more abundant
and also of better quality. Science is perfected and more expe-
ditious ; works of art are more numerous and refined ; industry
produces more, and its products are nearer perfect. Now, man
has need of all these things. It would seem, then, that he must

233 .

234 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

be so much happier as he possesses more, and, consequently,
that he may be naturally incited to look for them.

That granted, there is a simple explanation of the regularity
with which the division of labor progresses. It is said to be
sufficient that a net-work of circumstances, easy to imagine,
may have warned man of some of these advantages, causing
him to seek their further extension, and the greatest possible
profit. The division of labor would then advance under the
influence of exclusively individual and psychological causes. To
propound its theory, it would not be necessary to observe
societies and their structures. The simplest and most funda-
mental instinct of the human heart would be sufficient to account
for it. It is the need of happiness which would urge the indi-
vidual to specialize more and more. To be sure, as all speciali-
zation supposes the simultaneous presence of several individuals
and their co-operation, it is not possible without a society. But
in place of being its determinate cause, society would only be
the means through which it is realized, the necessary material
in the organization of the divided work. It would even be an
effect of the phenomenon rather than its cause. Is it not
endlessly repeated that the need for co-operation has given birth
to societies? They would then be formed so that work could
be divided, rather than work being divided for social reasons.

This explanation is classic in political economy. Moreover,
it appears so simple and so evident that it is unconsciously
admitted by a host of thinkers whose opinions are altered by it.
That is why it is necessary to examine it first of all.

I

Nothing is less evident than the so-called axiom on which
it rests.

No rational limit can be assigned to the productive power of
work. To be sure, it depends upon technique, capital, etc.
But these obstacles are never anything but provisional, as
experience proves, and each generation pushes ever further back
the boundary which stopped the preceding generation. Even

DIVISION OF LABOR AND HAPPINESS 235

were it to achieve a maximum one day that it could not surpass
— gratuitous supposition — at least, it certainly has a field of
immense development behind it. If, then, as is supposed, hap-
piness increased regularly with it, it would also have to be able
to increase indefinitely, or at least the increases to which it
is susceptible would have to be proportionate to the other’s
advances. If it increased proportionally as agreeable stimuli
become more numerous and more intense, it would be quite
natural for man always to seek to produce more to enjoy still
more. But, as a matter of fact, our capacity for happiness is
very limited.

Indeed, it is a truth generally recognized today that pleasure
accompanies neither the very intense states of conscience, nor
those very feeble. There is pain when the functional activity
is insufficient, but excessive activity produces the same effects.*
Certain psychologists believe that pain is bound to a too intense
nervous vibration.^ Pleasure is, then, situated between these
two extremes. This proposition is, besides, a corollary of the
law of Weber and Fechner. If the mathematical formula these
experimenters have given it is of questionable exactitude,
they have removed doubt from at least one point. It is that
the variations of intensity through which a sensation can pass
are comprised within two limits. If the stimulus is too feeble,
it is not felt ; but if it surpasses a certain degree, the increases
produce less and less effect, until they cease to be felt. Now,
this law is equally true of the quality of sensation that is called
pleasure. It was even formulated for pleasure and pain long
before it was for other elements of sensation. Bernouilli applied
it directly to the most complex sentiments, and Laplace, inter-
preting it in the same sense, gave it the form of a relation
between physical fortune and moral fortune.® The gamut of

' Spencer, Principles of Psychology, I, p. 283 ; Wundt, Physiological Psychol-
ogy, I, ch. X, § 1.

* Richet. See his article Douleur in Dictionnaire encyclop4dique des sciences
rrUdicales.

’Laplace, ThSorie analytique des prohahilitis, Paris, 1847, pp. 187, 432. —
Fechner, Psychophysik, I, p. 236.

236 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

variations through which the intensity of the same pleasure can
run is thus limited.

Furthermore, if the states of conscience whose intensity is
moderated are generally agreeable, they do not all present
conditions equally favorable to the production of pleasure. In
the region of the lower limit, the changes through which agree-
able activity passes are too small in absolute value to determine
sentiments of pleasure of great energy. On the other hand,
when it approaches the point of indifference, that is, its maxi-
mum, the magnitude developed has too feeble a relative value.
A man who has very little capital cannot easily increase it in
proportions sufficient to change his condition perceptibly. That
is why first economies carry so little joy with them ; they are
too petty to improve the situation. The insignificant advan-
tages procured do not compensate for the privations they have
cost. In the same way, a man whose fortune is excessive finds
pleasure only in exceptional beneficence, for he measures its
importance by what he already has. It is quite otherwise with
average fortunes. Here, both the absolute size and the relative
size of the variations are in best condition for production of
pleasure, for they are sufficiently important, and yet it is not
necessary for them to be extraordinary to be estimated at their
worth. The standard serving to measure their value is not yet
so high as to result in strong depreciation. The intensity of an
agreeable stimulus can then increase usefully only between
limits still more closely related than we first said, for it can only
produce its full effect in the interval which corresponds to the
average part of the agreeable activity. Above and below that,
pleasure still exists, but it is not proportional to the cause pro-
ducing it, whereas, in the limited zone, the least oscillations are
felt and appreciated. Nothing of the energy of the stimulus
converted into pleasure is lost.^

What we have just said of the intensity of each stimulus
could be repeated of their number. They cease to be agreeable
when they are too many or too few, as when they surpass or
♦ Cf . Wundt, loc, cit

DIVISION OF LABOR AND HAPPINESS 237

do not attain a certain degree of vivacity. It is not without
reason that human experience sees the condition of happiness
in the golden mean.

^If, then, the division of labor had really advanced only to
increase our happiness, it would have arrived at its extreme
limit a long time ago, as well as the civilization resulting from
it, and both would have stopped. For to have man lead this
temperate existence most favorable to pleasure, it was not neces-
sary indefinitely to accumulate stimuli of all sorts. A moderate
development would have been sufficient to assure individuals
the sum-total of pleasures of which they were capable. Hu-
manity would have rapidly come to a state from which it would
not have emerged. That is what happened to animals ; most
have not changed for centuries, because they have arrived at
this state of equilibrium.

Other considerations lead to the same conclusion. It can-
not absolutely be said that every agreeable state is useful, that
pleasure and utility always vary in the same sense and same
relation. Nevertheless, an organism pleased with things injuri-
ous to it evidently could not exist. It can then be accepted as
a very general truth that pleasure is not linked to harmful states ;
which is to say that, in the large, happiness coincides with a
healthy state. Only beings tainted with some physiological or
psychological perversion find joy in morbidity. But health
consists in a mean activity. It implies, in effect, a harmoni-
ous developipgnt of all functions, and functions can develop
harmoniously only by virtue of moderating one another, by
being mutually contained within certain limits beyond which
sickness begins and pleasure ceases. As for a simultaneous
growth of all faculties, it is possible for a given being only in
very restricted measure, marked by the congenital state of the
individual.

One thus understands what limits human happiness. It is
the constitution of man, taken at each moment of history. Be-
ing given his temperament, the degree of attained physical and

238

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

moral development, there is a maximum of happiness as well
as a Tnaximiim of activity that cannot be surpassed. This is
scarcely denied when it is a question of the organism. Every-
one recognizes that the needs of the body are limited, and that,
consequently, physical pleasure cannot increase indefinitely.
But it is said that spiritual functions are exceptions. “ No pain
to chastise and repress . . . the most energetic impulses of
devotion and charity, the passionate and enthusiastic search for
truth and beauty. Hunger is satisfied with a determined quan-
tity of food ; reason cannot be satisfied with a determined quan-
tity of knowledge.” ®

This overlooks that conscience, as the organism, is a system
of functions which sets up an equilibrium, and that, moreover, it
is linked to an organic substratum of the state upon which it
depends. It is said there is a degree of light that the eyes can-
not support, but that there is never too much light for reason.
Too much knowledge, however, can be acquired only by an ex-
aggerated development of the higher nervous centres, which
itself cannot be produced without being accompanied by pain-
ful distress. There is then a maximum limit that cannot be
surpassed with impunity, and as it varies with the average brain,
it was particularly low at the beginning of humanity. Conse-
quently, the limit was quickly attained. But understanding
is only one of our faculties. It can increase beyond a certain
point only to the detriment of the practical faculties, disrupting
sentiments, beUefs, customs, with which we live, and such a
rupture of equilibrium cannot take place without troublesome
consequences. The followers of the crudest religion find pleasure
in a rudimentary cosmogony and philosophy that is taught them
which we must rise above without any compensation if we are
to succeed in inculcating into them our scientific doctrines, no
matter how unquestionable the latter’s superiority. At each
moment of history and in the conscience of each individual
there is a determined place for clear ideas, reflected opinions,
in short, for science, beyond which it cannot normally extend.

* Rabier, Letom de pkOosothie, I, p. 47d.

DIVISION OF LABOR AND HAPPINESS 239

It is the same with morality. Each people has its morality
which is determined by the conditions in which it lives. An-
other, therefore, cannot be inculcated, be it ever so elevated,
without disorganization as consequence, and such troubles can-
not but be painfully felt by the particular individuals. But the
morality of each society, taken in and of itself, does it not allow
an indefinite development of its charged virtues? Not at all.
To act morally is to do one’s duty, and all duty is limited. It
is limited by other duties. One cannot give oneself too com -
pl etely to others without abandoning onese lf. One cannot
develop personality to excess without developing egotism. On
the other hand, the aggregate of our duties is itself limited by
other exigencies of our nature. If it is necessary that certain
forms of conduct be submitted to this imperative regulation
characteristic of morality, there are others, on the contrary,
naturally refractory, yet essential. Morality cannot exces-
sively govern industrial, commercial functions, etc. without
paralyzing them, and nevertheless they are vital. Thus, to
consider wealth as immoral is not less deadly an error than to
see in wealth the good par excellence. There can, then, be ex-
cesses of morality from which morality, indeed, is the first to
suffer, for as its immediate object is to govern our temporal life,
it cannot turn us from that temporal life without relinquishing
the material to which it is applied.

The aesthetico-moral activity, it is true, seems freed of all
control and limitation because it is not regulated. But, as a
matter of fact, it is narrowly circumscribed by activity properly
moral, for it can surpass a certain standard only to the detri-
ment of morality. If we expend too much of our energy on the
superfluous, there no longer remains enough for the necessary.
When the place of the imagination in morality is made too
great, obligatory tasks are necessarily neglected. All discipline
appears intolerable when one is used to acting only under rules
of one’s own making. Too much idealism and moral elevation
often deprives a man of the taste to fulfill his daily duties.

In general, the same may be said of all aesthetic activity;

240

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

it is healthy only if moderated. The need of playing, acting
without end and for the pleasure of acting, cannot be developed
beyond a certain point without depriving oneself of serious life.
Too great an artistic sensibility is a sickly phenomenon which
cannot become general without danger to society. The limit
beyond which excess begins is, of course, variable, according to
the people or the social environment. It begins so much sooner
as society is less advanced, or the environment less cultivated.
The workingman, if he is in harmony with his conditions of
existence, is and must be closed to pleasures normal to the man
of letters, and it is the same with the savage in relation to civi-
lized man.

If it is thus with the cultivation of the mind, with still stronger
reason is it so of material luxury. There is, then, a normal
intensity of all our needs, intellectual, moral, as well as physical,
which cannot be exaggerated. At each moment of history,
our thirst for science, art, and well-being is defined as are our
appetites, and all that goes beyond this standard leaves us indif-
ferent or causes us suffering. That is too often forgotten in
comparing the happiness of our ancestors with our own. We
reason as if all our pleasures could have been theirs. Then,
thinking of all the refinements of civilization enjoyed by us and
which they knew nothing about, we are inclined to pity their lot.
We forget they were not qualified to enjoy them. If they were so
greatly tormented by the desire to increase the productive power
of work, it was not to achieve goods without value to them.
To appreciate these goods, they would have had to contract
tastes and habits they did not have, which is to say, to change
their nature.

That is indeed what they have done, as the history of the
transformations through which humanity has passed shows.
For the need of greater happiness to account for the develop>-
ment of the division of labor, it would then be necessary for it
also to be the cause of the changes progressively wrought in
human nature, and for men to have changed in order to become
happier.

DIVISION OF LABOR AND HAPPINESS 241

But, even supposing that these transformations have had
such a result, it is impossible that they were produced for that,
and, consequently, they depend upon another cause.

Indeed, a change of existence, whether it be sudden or pre-
pared, always brings forth a painful crisis, for it does violence
to acquired instincts which oppose it. All the past holds us
back, even though the most beautiful vistas appear before us.
It is always a laborious operation to pull up the roots of habits
that time has fixed and organized in us. It is possible that
sedentary life offers more chances for happiness than nomadic
life, but when this latter life has been led for centuries, it can-
not easily be cast aside. Again, no matter how simple these
transformations may be, an individual life is not sufficient to
accomplish them. A generation is not enough to cast aside the
work of generations, to put a new man in the place of the old.
•In the present state of our societies, work is not only useful, it is
necessary; everyone feels (his, and this necessity has been felt
for a long time. Nevertheless, those who find pleasure in regu-
lar and persistent work are still few and far between. For most
men, it is still an insupportable servitude. The idleness of
primitive times has not lost its old attractions for them. These
metamorphoses then cost a great deal for a long time without
accomplishing anything. The generations inaugurating them
do not receive the fruits, if there are any, because they come
late. They have only the pain. Consequently, it is not the
expectation of a greater happiness which drags them into such
enterprises.

But, in fact, is it true that the happiness of the individual
increases as man advances? Nothing is more doubtful.

II

Assuredly, there is a host of pleasures open to us today that
more simple natures knew nothing about. But, on the other
hand, we are exposed to a host of sufferings spared them, and it
is not at all certain that the balance is to our advantage.
Thought, to be sure, is a source of joy which can be very intense.

242

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

but, at the same time, how much joy does it trouble ! For a
solved problem, how many questions are raised without solu-
tion ! For a cleared-up doubt, how many mysteries come to
disconcert ! Indeed, if the savage knows nothing of the pleas-
ures of bustling life, in return, he is immune to boredom, that
monster of cultivated minds. His life runs on quietly without
perpetually feeling the need of filling the shortest moments with
numerous hurried facts. Let us not forget, besides, that work
is still for most men a punishment and a scourge.

It will be said that with civilized people life is more varied,
and variety is necessary to pleasure. But at the same time as
there is a greater mobility, civilization carries with it more uni-
formity, for it has imposed upon man monotonous and contin-
uous labor. The savage goes from one occupation to another,
according to the circumstances and needs affecting him. The
civilized man devotes himself entirely to a task which is always
the same, and offering less variety as it is more greatly restricted.
Organization necessarily implies an absolute regularity in habits,
(ffor a change cannot take place in an organ’s function without
the whole organism being affected by repercussions. From that
angle, our life leaves least to chance at the same time that, by
its greater instability, it takes away from enjoyment a part of
the security it needs.

It is true that our nervous system, having become more deli-
cate, is accessible to feeble stimuli that did not affect the less
refined system of our ancestors. But, in addition, a great many
stimuli formerly agreeable have become too strong for us, and,
consequently, painful. If we are open to more pleasures, we
are also open to more pain. On the other hand, if it is true, all
things being equal, that suffering produces a more profound
effect upon the organism than joy,® that a disagreeable stimu-
lus produces more pain than an agreeable stimulus of the same
intensity produces pleasure, this greater sensibility might well
be more unfavorable than favorable to happiness. In fact,
extremely refined nervous systems live in pain and end by

* See Hartmann, Philosophy of the Unconadoue.

DIVISION OF LABOR AND HAPPINESS 243

attaching themselves to it. Is it not very remarkable that the
fundamental cult of the most civilized religions is that of hu-
man suffering? Doubtless, for life to maintain itself, it is nec-
essary, today as before, that in average circumstances pleasures
exceed pains. But it is not certain that the excess has become
greater.

Finally, there is no proof that this excess ever is a measure of
happiness. To be sure, in these obscure and still badly studied
questions, one can affirm nothing with certainty. But it
appears fairly certain that happiness is something besides a sum
of pl^ sures . It is a gener^and constant' state accompan;png
the regular activity of all our organic and psychical functions.
Thus, continuous activities, as those of respiration and circula-
tion, do not yield positive enjo 3 rment. But our good humor
and spirits depend especially upon them. All pleasure is a sort
of crisis ; it is born, lasts a moment, and dies. Life, on the con-
trary, is continuous. What gives it its fundamental attraction
must be continuous like itself. Pleasure is local ; it is a Umited
affection of a point in the organism or conscience. Life resides
neither here nor there, but everywhere. Our attachment for
it must then be rooted in some equally general cause. In short,
what happiness expresses is not the momentary state of a par-
ticular function, but the health of physical and moral life in -its
entirety. As pleasure accompanies the normal exercise of inter-
mittent functions, it is indeed an element of happiness, and as
much more important as these functions take greater parts in
life. But it is not happiness ; it can raise or lower the level only
in restricted fashion, for it clings to ephemeral causes ; happi-
ness rests in permanent dispositions. For local accidents to
be able to affect this fundamental base of our sensibility pro-
foundly, they would have to be repeated with an exceptional
frequency and consistency. Most often, on the contrary, pleas-
ure depends upon happiness. According to whether we are
happy or sad, all things attract or sadden us. There is good
reason for sa 3 dng we carry our happiness within ourselves.

But, this being so, there is no longer any reason for asking

244 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

whether happiness grows with civilization. It is the index of
the state of health. Now, the health of a species is no more
complete because that species happens to be of a higher type.
A healthy mammifer is in no better health than a protozoan
equally healthy. It must then be the same with happiness. It
does not become greater because activity becomes richer, but
it is the same wherever it is healthy. The most simple and the
most complex being enjoy the same happiness if they equally
realize their natures. The normal savage can be quite as happy
as the normal civilized man.

Thus, th e savages are quite as g,Q ntent with their let as we
C^n. b ^ This perfect contentment is even one of the

distinctive traits of their character. They desire nothing more
than they have, and have no wish to change their condition.
“The inhabitant of the North,” says Waitz, “does not look to
the South to improve his position, and the inhabitant of a warm
and unhealthy country does not aspire to l6ave it for' a more fa-
vorable climate. In spite of the numerous maladies and evils
of all sorts to which the inhabitant of Darfur is exposed, he loves
his country, and not only does not emigrate but longs to return
if he is in a foreign countiy. ... As a general rule, whatever
the material misfortune of a people, it does not prevent the con-
sideration of that country as the best in the world, its kind of
life the most fecund with regard to pleasures, and looking to
themselves as the first of all peoples. This conviction generally
is the conviction of the Negro peoples.” ^ Thus, in exploited
countries, as so many in America, the natives firmly believe that
the whites left their country only to come to seek happiness in
America. The example is cited of young savages that unrest
caused to leave their country in search of happiness, but they
are very rare exceptions.

It is true that observers have sometimes painted the life of
lower societies in quite different colors. But that is because
they have taken their own impressions for that of the natives.
But an existence which appears intolerable to us can be quite

’ Waite, ArUharopolooie, 1, p. 346.

DIVISION OF LABOR AND HAPPINESS 245

satisf 3 ang for men of a different physical and moral constitution.
For example, when, from infancy on, one is accustomed to risk-
ing his life at every moment, and, consequently, to reckon it for
nothing, what is death? To pity the lot of primitive peoples, it
is not enough to establish that hygiene is badly observed there,
that police protection is wanting. The individual alone is com-
petent to appreciate his happiness. He is happy if he feels
happy. But, “from the inhabitant of Tierra del Fuego up to
the Hottentot, man, in the natural state, lives satisfied with
himself and his lot.” * How much more rare contentment is
in Europe! These facts explain the statement of a person of
experience : “There are situations in which a thinking man feels
himself inferior to the one whom nature alone has raised, in
which he asks himself if his most solid convictions are worth
more than the narrow prejudices which are enduring.” *

But here is more objective proof. The only experimental
fact proving that life is generally good is**tJiatlihe greaFmass 61
men prefer it to death. To be so, in the average life, KappifiSss
must prevail over unhappiness. If the relations were reversed,
neither the attachment of men to life, nor its continuance jostled
by the facts at each moment, could be understood. Pessimists,
it is true, explain the persistence of this phenomenon by the
illusions of hope. According to them, if, in spite of the decep-
tions of experience, we hold on to life, it is because we
are wrongly hoping that the future will make up for th e pas t.
But even admitting that hope is sufficient to explain the love
of life, it does not explain itself. It has not miraculously de-
scended from heaven into our hearts, but it has had to be formed,
as all sentiments, within the action of the facts. If, then, men
have learned to hope, if, under a blow of misfortune, they have
acquired the ha^it of turning their ey es to ward the future, and
of awaiting QDcapepsatiQna. foJ' their present sufferings, it is be-
cause they see that these compensations are frequent, that the

• Wait*, loc. cit, p. 347.

• Cowper Rose, Four Years in Southern Africa^ p. 173, 1829.

246

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

human organism is at once too supple and too resistant to be
easily beaten into despondency, that the moments won by mis-
fortune were exceptional, and that, generally, the balance ended
by returning to its former state. Consequently, whatever may
be the part of hope in the genesis of the instinct of conservation,
the latter is a piercing witness of the relative bounty of life.
For the same reason, where it loses either its energy, or its
generality, one can be certain that life itself loses its attrac-
tions, that evil increases, or the causes of suffering increase, or
the resistive force of individuals is reduced. If, then, we
possess an objective and measurable fact translating the varia-
tions of intensity through which this sentiment passes in
societies, we shall be able with one stroke to measure those
of the average unhappiness in these same environments. This
fact is the number of suicides. In the same way as the rela-
tive rarity of voluntary deaths is the best proof of the power
and universality of this instinct, the fact that they increase
proves it is losing ground.

But suicide sca rcely appears exrept with civilization. [It is
very rare in lower societies, or] * at least the only kind one ob-
serves there, [sometimes] * in chronic state, presents very par-
ticular characteristics of a special type whose symptomatic
value is not the same. It is not an act of despair but of abne-
gation. If with the ancient Danes, or the Celts, or Thracians,
the old man at an advanced age put an end to his life, it was
because it was his duty to free his companions from a useless
burden. If the widow of the Indian did- not survive her hus-
band, nor the Gaul the chief of his clan, if the Buddhist has
hims elf tom on the wheels of the carriage carrying his idol, it
is because moral or religious prescriptions demand it. In al l
these circumstances, man kills himself, not because he jydges
li!en[>ad, but because the ideal to which he is attache<^ demands
t^^^crific^ These voluntary deaths ate therefo]^3a»Jttore
suicides, in the common sense of the word, than the death of a
soldier or a doctor exposing himself knowingly because of duty.

* Tran8lator*8 Note : Not in fifth edition. Found in first edition.

DIVISION OF LABOR AND HAPPINESS 247

On the contrary, the true suicide, the sad suicide, is in the
endemic state with civilized peoples. He is even distributed geo-
graphically like civilization. On the charts of suicides, there
is seen a very dark spot over all the central region of Europe
between 47 and 57 degrees latitude and 20 and 40 degrees longi-
tude. That space is the favorite place for suicide; according
to Morselli’s expression, it is the §uicidogenous zone of Europe.
There also are found the countries where scientific, artistic, eco-
nomic activities are carried to their maximum : Germany ^d
France. On the contrary, Spain, Portugal, Russia, the Slav peo-
ple of the South are relatively immune. Italy, born yesterday, is
still somewhat safe, but its immunity is lost as it advances.
England alone is an exception. Still, we are badly informed as
to the exact degree of its suicidal rate. In the interior of each
country, one observes the same relation. Everywhere suicide
rages more fiercely in the cities than in the country. Civiliza-
tion is concentrated in the great cities, suicide likewise. It hks
even been viewed sometimes as a contagious disease which has
as the sources of irradiation the capitals and important cities,
and which, from there, spreads over the rest of the country.
Finally, in all Europe, Norway excepted, the figures for sui-
cides have steadily increased for a century.*® According to one
calculation, it has tripled from 1821 to 1880.** The march of
civilization cannot be gauged with the same precision, but it is
known how rapid its advance has been during that time.

The proofs could be multiplied. The classes of population
furnish suicide a quota proportionate to their degree of civiliza-
tion. Everywhere the liberal professions are hardest hit, and
agriculture the least. It is the same with the sexes. Woman
has had less part than man in the movement of civilization.
She participates less and derives less profit. She recalls, more-
over, certain characteristics of primitive natures.** Thus, there
is about one fourth the suicides among .^romen as among men.

See the Tables of Morselli.

Oettingen, MordUtatiatik, p. 742» Erlangen, 1882.

“ Tarde, CriminaliU compar^e, p. 48.

248

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

But, it will be objected, if the ascending march of suicides
indicates that unhappiness advances in certain respects, could
it not be said at the same time that happiness increases
in others ? In that case, the increase of advantages would per-
haps compensate for the losses suffered elsewhere. Thus, in
certain societies, the number of poor increases without the pub-
lic fortune diminishing. It is only concentrated in a smaller
number of hands.

But this hypothesis itself is scarcely more favorable to our
civilization. For, supposing that such compensations exist,
one could conclude nothing except the fact that average happi-
ness has remained almost stationary. Or, if it had increased,
it could only have been in very small quantities which, being
without relation to the great efforts progress has cost, would
not be able to give an account of it. But the very hypothesis
is without basis.

In fact, when a society is called more or less happy than an-
other, average happiness is meant, that is, the happiness en-
joyed by the average members of this society. As they are
placed in conditions of sindlar existence, in so far as they are
subject to the action of the same physical and social environ-
ment, there is necessarily a manner of living, and consequently
a way of being happy which is common to them. If, from the
happiness of individuals, there is taken away all that is due to
individual or local causes in order to retain only the product of
general and common causes, the residue thus obtained consti-
tutes precisely what we term average happiness. It is, then, an
abstracted magnitude, absolutely uniform, which cannot vary
in two contrary senses at the same time. It can either grow or
decrease, but it caimot do both. It has the same unity and the
same reality as the average type of society, the average man of
Quetelet, for it represents the happiness which this ideal being
is supposed to enjoy. Consequently, in the same way that he
cannot become at the same moment greater and smaller, more
moral and immoral, he cannot at the same time become happier
and unhappier.

DIVISION OF LABOR AND HAPPINESS 249

But the causes upon which the progress of suicides among
civilized peoples depends have a certain general character.
Indeed, it does not occur in isolated points to the exclusion of
others. One observes it everywhere. According to the region,
the ascension is rapid or slow, but no region is exempt. Agri-
culture is less affected than industry, but the quota it furnishes
to suicide is always increasing. Thus, we are before a phenome-
non which is linked not to some local and particular circum-
stances, but to a general state of the social milieu. This state
is diversely refracted by special milieux (provinces, occupations,
religious confessions, etc.). That is why its action cannot be
felt everywhere with the same intensity, but its nature does not
change on that account.

The happiness whose regression is attested by the increase in
suic ides is the a yeragqTTappiness. What the mounting tide of
.voluntary deaths proves is not only that there is a greater num-
ber of individuals too unhappy to live — which would prove
nothing in respect to the others who are in the majority — but
that the g eneral happi ness of society is decreas ing. Conse-
quently, since this happiness cannot increase and decrease at the
same time, it is impossible for it to increase, in whatever man-
ner that may be, when suicides multiply. In other words, the
growing deficiency they reveal has no compensation. The
causes on which they depend exhaust only a part of their energy
in suicides. The influence they exert is even more extensive.
Where they do not lead man to kill himself, totally suppressing
happiness, they reduce, at least, in variable proportions, the nor-
mal excess of pleasures over pains. Doubtless, it may happen
by combinations of particular circumstances that, in certain
cases, their action may be neutralized in a way to make possible
even an increase of happiness, but these accidental, private
variations are without effect upon social happiness. What
statistician would hesitate to see in the progess of general mor-
tality in the midst of a determined society a sure symptom of
the weakening of public health ?

Is that to say that it is necessary to impute these sad results

250

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

to progress itself and to the division of labor which is its condi-
tion ? This discouraging conclusion does not necessarily follow
from the preceding facts. It is, on the contrary, very likely
that these two orders of fact are simply concomitant. But this
concomitance is sufficient to prove that progress does not greatly
iimrease our happiness, sipce the latterdecreases, and,, in^ery
grave proportions, at the very moment when the, iJi vision of
labor is developing witb an energy and rapidity never known
before. If there is no reason for believing that it has effectively
diminished our capacity for enjoyment, it is still more impossible
to believe it has perceptibly increased it.

Lastly, all we have just said is only a particular application
of this general truth that pleasure is, as pain, a thing essentially
relative. There is no absolute happiness, objectively determi-
nable, which men approach as they progress. But in the same
way as the happiness of man is not that of woman, according to
Pascal, that of lower societies cannot be ours, and vice versa.
One, however, is not greater than the other, for the relative
intensity can be measured only by the force with which it at-
taches us to life in general, and to our kind of life in particular.
Now, the most primitive peoples are as anxious to continue their
existence as we ours. They renounce it even less willingly.*®
There is, then, no relation between the variations of happiness
and the advances of the division of labor.

This proposition is of the utmost importance. From it results
the fact that, to explain the transformations through which
societies have passed, we must not look for the influence they
exercise on the happiness of men, since it is not this influence
which has determined them. Social science must resolutely
renounce these utilitarian comparisons in which it has too often
been involved. Besides, such considerations are necessarily
subjective, for whenever pleasures or interests are compared, as
all objective criterion is wanting, one cannot refrain from de-
ciding on the basis of one’s own ideals and preferences, and what

Except cases where the instinct of preservation is neutralized by religious
or patriotic sentiments, etc. without its being weaker for that.

DIVISION OF LABOR AND HAPPINESS 251

is nothing more than personal sentiment is called scientific truth.
It is a principle which Comte had already formulated very neatly.
‘‘The essentially relative spirit/' he said, “in which any sort of
idea of positive politics must necessarily be conceived, must
first of all make us dismiss as vain and futile the vague meta-
physical controversy concerning the increase of man's happiness
in the various ages of civilization. . . . Since the happiness of
each demands a sufficient harmony between the totality of the
development of his different faculties and the total system of
whatever circumstances dominate his life, and since, moreover,
such an equilibrium always automatically remains within a
certain range, there can be no place for positively comparing,
either by any direct sentiment or by rational procedure, with
respect to individual happiness, social situations which cannot
be compared.”

• But the desire to become happier is the only individual source
which can take account of progress. If that is set aside, no
other remains. Why should an individual cause changes which
are painful, if he is no happier with the changes? It is, there-
fore, outside himself, in the surrounding environment, that the
determinant causes of social evolution are to be found. If
societies change, and if he changes, that is because this environ-
ment changes. On the other hand, as the physical environ-
ment is relatively constant, it cannot explain this uninterrupted
succession of change. Consequently, it is in the social environ-
ment we must seek the original conditions. Variations are
produced there provoking those through which societies and
individuals pass. This is a rule of method we shall have occa-
sion to apply and confirm in what follows.

It could still be asked, however, whether certain variations
undergone by pleasure do not spontaneously cause man to
change, and if, consequently, the progress of the division of labor

CouTB de Philoaophie positive, 2nd ed., IV, p. 273.

252

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

cannot be explained in this way. Here is how this explanation
could be conceived.

If pleasure is not happiness, it is, however, one element. But
it loses its intensity through repetition. If it becomes too con-
tinuous, it disapppears completely. Time is sufficient to break
the equilibrium tending to be established, and create new con-
ditions of existence to which man can adapt himself only by
changing. To the extent that we accustom ourselves to a cer-
tain type of happiness, it flees from us, and we are obliged to
throw ourselves into new undertakings to recapture it. We
must bring the extinguished pleasure to life again by means of
more energetic stimuli, that is, multiply or render those which
we have more intense. But that is possible only if work
becomes more productive and, consequently, more divided.
Thus, each realized advance in art, in science, in industry,
would necessitate new advances, so as not to lose the fruits of
the preceding advance. The development of the division of
labor would then be explained by a net-work of individual
causes, without the intervention of any social cause. To be
sure, it would be said, if we specialize, it is not to acquire new
pleasures, but to repair, as fast as it is produced, the corrosive
influence that time exercises over acquired pleasures.

But no matter how real these variations of pleasure may be,
they cannot play the role attributed to them. Indeed, they
are produced wherever there is pleasure, that is, wherever there
are men. There is no society where this psychological law does
not apply, but there are some where the division of labor does
not progress. We have seen, indeed, that a very great number
of primitive people live in a stationary state from which they do
not even think of emerging. They aspire to nothing new.
Nevertheless, their happiness is submitted to the common law.
It is the same in the country among civilized peoples. The
division of labor only advances very slowly there, and the de-
sire for changes is only weakly felt. Finally, in the midst of
the same society, the division of labor is developed more or less
quickly through the ages, but the influence of time on pleasures

DIVISION OF LABOR AND HAPPINESS 253

is always the same. It is not it which determines the develop-
ment.

Indeed, one cannot see how it could have such a result. The
equilibrium time destroys cannot be re-established, nor can
happiness be maintained at a constant level without attempts
which are the more disagreeable as they approach the higher
limit of pleasure, for in the region adjoining the maximum point
the increases are steadily lower than the corresponding stimuli.
More trouble must be taken for the same reward. What is
gained on one side is lost on the other, and loss is avoided only
by new expenditure. Consequently, for the operation to be
profitable, this loss would at least have to be important, and
the need for reparation strongly felt.

But, in fact, it has only a very mediocre energy, because
simple repetition brings nothing essential to pleasure. It is,
indeed, necessary not to confuse the charm of variety with
that of novelty. The first is the necessary condition of pleasure,
since an uninterrupted enjoyment disappears or is changed into
pain. But time alone does not suppress variety; continuity
must be added to it. A state often repeated, but in discontinu-
ous manner, can remain agreeable, for, if continuity destroys
pleasure, it is either because it makes it unwitting, or because
the play of each function demands an outlay which, prolonged
without interruption, is exhausting and becomes painful. If,
then, the act, in becoming habitual, returns only at separated
intervals, it will continue to be felt, and the expenditures will
be replaced in the intervals. That is why a healthy adult
always feels the. same pleasure in eating, drinking, sleeping,
although he sleeps, eats, drinks every day. It is the same with
needs of the spirit, which are, also, periodic as the psychical
functions to which they correspond. The pleasures that music
brings, or the arts, or science; are integrally maintained provided
they alternate.

If continuity can do what repetition cannot, it does not in-
spire us with a need for new and unforeseen stimuli. For, if it
totally abolishes the consciousness of the agreeable state, we

254

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

cannot discover that the pleasure attached to it has vanished
at the same time. It is replaced by that general feeling of well-
being accompanying the regular exercises of functions normally
continued which is not their least worth. We, then, regret
nothing. Who of us has ever wanted to feel his heart beating,
or his lungs functioning? If, on the contrary, there is pain, we
simply aspire to a state different from the one annoying us.
But to have this suffering cease, it is not necessary to tax our
ingenuity. A known object which ordinarily leaves us cold
can, even in this case, cause a piercing joy if it contrasts with
the state annoying us. There is, then, nothing in the way in
which time affects the fundamental element of pleasure that can
provoke us to some sort of progress. It is true that it is other-
wise with novelty, whose attraction is not durable. But if it
gives greater freshness to pleasure, it does not constitute it. It
is only one of its secondary and accessory qualities without
which it can exist very well, although with the risk of being
less savoury. When obliterated, the resulting void is not
very evident nor the need of filling it very intense.

What diminishes its intensity is that it is neutralized by a
contrasting sentiment a great deal stronger and more firmly
rooted in us : this is the need of stability in our enjoyments
and regularity in our pleasures. At the same time that we like
to change, we are attached to what we like and we cannot sepa-
rate ourselves from it without diflBculty. Besides, it is neces-
sary that it be so in order that life be maintained, for if life is
not possible without change, even if it is as flexible as it is com-
plex, nevertheless it is above all a system of stable and regular
functions. There are, to be sure, individuals whose need for
the new attains exceptional intensity. Nothing existent satis-
fies them, they thirst for the impossible, they would like to put
in the place of imposed reality another. But these incorrigible
grumblers are unhealthy, and their pathological character only
confirms what we have just said.

Finally, we must not forget that this need is intrinsically inde-
terminate. It attaches us to nothing precise, since it is a need

DIVISION OF LABOR AND HAPPINESS 265

of something which does not exist. It is then only half-con-
stituted, for a complete need comprises two terms; a tension
of the will and a certain object. As the object is not given
without, it can have no other reality than that which imagina-
tion lends it. This process is half representative. It consists
more in combinations of images, in a sort of intimate poetry,
than in an effective movement of will. It does not take us
out of ourselves ; it is scarcely more than an internal agitation
seeking a way out, not yet found. We dream of new sensa-
tions, but it is a bodyless desire floating about. Consequently,
even where it is most energetic, it cannot have the force of
firm and defined needs which, directing the will always in the
same direction and by well-beaten paths, stimulates it so much
more imperiously that they leave no place either for groping or
deliberations.

' In a word, one cannot admit that progress is only an effect
of boredom.*® This recasting, periodic and even, in certain
respects, continuous in human nature, has been a laborious work
which has been accompanied by suffering. It is impossible for
humanity to have imposed upon itself so much trouble solely
to be able to vary its pleasures a little and to keep their fiirst
freshness.

This was the theory of Georges Leroy ; we are acquainted with it only
through Comte, Coura de Philoaophie poaitive, IV, p. 449.

CHAPTER TWO

THE CAUSES
I

We must, then, look for the causes explaining the progress of
tthe division of labor in certain variations of the social scene.
The results of the preceding book enable us to infer at once what
these variations are.

pVe saw how the organized structure, and, thus, the divi-
siW of labor, develop as the segmental structure disappears?^
Hence, either this disappearance is the cause of the develop-
ment, or the development is the cause of the disappearance.
The latter hypothesis is inadmissible, for we know that the seg-
mental arrangement is an insurmountable obstacle to the divi-
sion of labor, and must have disappeared at least partially for
the division of labor to appear. The latter can appear only in
proportion to the disappearance of the segmental structure.
To be sure, once the division of labor appears, it can contribute
towards the hastening of the other’s regression, but it is in evi-
dence only after the regression has begun. The effect reacts
upon the cause, but never loses its quality of effect. The reac-
tion it exercises is, consequently, secondary. The growth of
the division of labor is thus brought about by the social seg-
ments losing their individuality, the divisions becoming more
permeable. In short, a coalescence takes place which makes
new combinations possible in the social substance.

But the disappearance of this type can have this consequence
for only one reason. That is because it gives rise to a relation-
ship between individuals who were separated, or, at least, a
more intimate relationship than there was. Consequently,

256

THE CAUSES

267

there is an exchange of movements between parts of the social
mass which, until then, had no effect upon one another.) The
greater the development of the cellular system, the more are
our relations enclosed within the limits of the cell to which we
belong, ^here are, as it were, moral gaps between the various
segments. On the contrary, these gaps are filled in as the sys-
tem is leveled out. Social life, instead of being concentrated
in a multitude of little centres, distinctive and alike, is general-
ized. Social relations, — more exactly, intra-social — conse-
quently become more numerous, since they extend, on all sides,
beyond their original limits. The division of labor develops,
therefore, as there are more individuals sufficiently in contact
to be able to act and react upon one another. If we agree to
call this relation and the active commerce resulting from it
dynamic or moral density, we can say that the progress of the
■division of labor is in dir^t ratio to the moral or. dynfimic
density brsociety.

BuTIhfs moral relationship can only produce its effect if the
real distance between individuals has itself diminished in some
way. Moral density cannot grow unless material density grows
at the same time, and the latter can be used to measure the for-
mer. It is useless to try to find out which has determined the
other ; they are inseparable.

The progressive condensation of societies in historical devel-
opment is produced in three principal ways :

1. Whereas lower societies are spread over immense areas
according to population, with more advanced people popula-
tion always tends to concentrate. As Spencer suggests, if we
oppose the rate of population in regions inhabited by savage
tribes to that of regions of the same extent in Europe ; or again,
if we oppose the density of the population in England under the
Heptarchy to its present density, we shall recognize that the
growth produced by the union of groups is also accompanied bj
interstitial growth.^ The changes brought about in the indus'
trial life of nations prove the universality of this transformation

* Prindtlu of Sociology, II. p. 31.

258

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

The industry of nomads, hunters, or shepherds implies the
absence of all concentration, dispersion over the lai^est possible
surface. Agriculture, since it necessitates a sedentary life,
presupposes a certain tightening of the social fibre, but it is still
incomplete, for there are stretches of land between families.*
In the city, although the condensation was greater, the houses
were not contiguous, for joint property was no part of the
Roman law.® It grew up on our soil, and is proof that the social
web has become tighter.'* On the other hand, from their origins,
European societies have witnessed a continuous growth in their
density in spite of exceptions of short-lived regressions.®

2. The formation of cities and their development is an even
■^more characteristic symptom of the same phenomenon. The
increase in average density may be due to the material increase
of the birth-rate, and, consequently, can be recohciIe3~with a
very feeble concentration, a 'marked maintenance of the seg-'
mental t3rpe. But cities always result from the need of indi-
viduals to put themselves in very intimate contact with others.
TheJ’'^re so many points where the social mass is contracted
more strongly than elsewhere. They can multiply and extend
only if the moral density is raised. We shall see, moreover, that
they receive recruits especially by inmigration. This is only
possible when the fusion of social segments is advanced.

As long as social organization is essentially segmental, the
city does not exist. There are none in lower societies.* They
did not exist among the Iroquois, nor among the ancient Ger-
mans.® It was the same with the primitive populations of Italy.
“The peoples of Italy,” says Marquardt, “originally did not
live in cities, but in familial communities or villages (pogi) over

***Colunt diversi ac dUcreti'' said Tacitus of the Germans; ''suam quiaque
domum apatio drcumdai." Oermania, xvi.

* See in Accarias, Pricia, I, p. 640, the list of urban servitudes. Of. Fustel
de Coulanges, La ciU antique, p. 65.

* In reasoning thus, we do not mean to say that the development of density
results from economic changes. The two facts mutually condition each other,
and the .presence of one proves the other’s.

* See Levasseur, La Population frangaiae, passim.

* Tacitus, Germania, xvi. — Sohm, Ueher die Entatehung der St&dte.

THE CAUSES

259

which fanns {vici, cUkm) were spread.” ’’ But in a rather short
time the city made its appearance. Athens and Rome are or
become cities, and the same transformation is made in all Italy.
In our Christian societies, the city is in evidence from the begin-
ning, for those left by the Roman empire did not disappear with
it. Since then, they have increased and multiplied. The tend-
ency of the country to stream into the city, so general in the
civilized world,® is only a consequence of this movement. It is
not of recent origin ; from the seventeenth century, statesmen
were preoccupied with it.®

Because societies generally begin with an agricultural period
there has sometimes been the temptation to regard the develop-
ment of urban centres as a sign of old age and decadence.'® But
we must not lose sight of the fact that this agricultural phase is
as short as societies are elevated. Whereas in Germany, among
the Indians of America, and with all primitive peoples, it lasts
as long as the people themselves, in Rome and Athens, it ends
rather soon, and, with us, we can say that it has never existed
alone. On the other hand, urban life commences sooner, and
consequently extends further. The regularly more rapid ac-
celeration of this development proves that, far from constituting
a sort of pathological phenomenon, it comes from the very na-
ture of higher social species. The supposition that this move-
ment has attained alarming proportions in our societies today,
which perhaps no longer have sufficient suppleness to adapt
themselves, will not prevent this movement from continuing
either within our societies or after them, and the social types
which will be formed after ours will likely be distinguished by a
still more complete and rapid regression of agricultural civili-
zation.

/ '3. Finally, there are the number and rapidity of ways of com-
' munication and transportation. By suppressing or dimim’shing

^ Rdmische Alterthilmer, IV, 3,

« See Dumont, Depopulation ei Civilisation, Paris, 1890, ch. viii, on this point,
and Oettingen, Moralstatistik, pp. 273 IT.

* Levasseur, op. dt., p. 200.

We believe this is the opinion of Tarde in his Lois de Vimitalion.

260

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

the gaps separating social segments, they increase the density
of society. It is not necessary to prove that they are as numer-
ous and perfected as societies are of a more elevated type.

Since this visible and measurable ssunbol reflects the varia-
tions of what we have called moral density we can substitute it
for this latter in the formula we have proposed. Moreover, we
must repeat here what we said before. If society, in concen-
trating, determines the development of the division of labor,
the latter, in its turn, increases the concentration of society.
But no matter, for the division of labor remains the derived fact,
and, consequently, the advances which it has made are due
to parallel advances of social density, whatever may be the
causes of the latter. That is all we wish to prove.

But this factor is not the only one.

If condensation of society produces this result, it is because it
multiplies intra-social relations. But these will be still more
numerous, ifTinaHdition, tEelotal number of members of society
becomes more considerable. If it comprises more individuals
at the same time as they are more intimately in Contact,
effect will necessarily be re-enforced. Social volume, then,
the same influence as density upon the division of labor.

In fact, societies are generally as voluminous as they are more
advanced, and consequently as labor is more divided. Socie-
ties, as living organisms, in Spencer’s words, begin in the form
of a bud, sprouting extremely tenuous bodies, compared to those
they finally become. The greatest societies, as he says, have
'^emerged from little wandering hordes, such as those of lower
races. This is a conclusion which Spencer finds cannot be

/denied.'* What we have said of the segmental constitution
makes this an indisputable truth. We know, indeed, that socie-
ties are formed by a certain number of segments of unequal

extent which mutually envelop one another. These moulds

are not artificial creations, especially in origin, and even when

There are particular, exceptional cases, however, where material and moral
density are perhaps not entirely in accord. See final note of this chapter.

** Prtiwnpfss of Sociology, II, 23.

^THE CAUSES

261

they have become conventional, they imitate and reproduce,
as far as possible, the forms of the natural arrangement which
has preceded. There are a great many old societies maintained
in this form. The most vast among these subdivisions, those
comprising the others, correspond to the nearest inferior social
t3T)e. Indeed, among the segments of which they are in turn
composed, the most extensive are vestiges of^the type which
comes directly below the preceding, and so on. "^here are found
traces of the most primitive social organization among the most
advanced peoples.'® Thus, the tribe is formed of an aggregate
of hordes or clans. The nation (the Jewish nation, for example)
and the city are formed of an aggregate of tribes ; the city, in
turn, with the villages subordinate to it, enters as an element
of the most complex societies, etc. Thus, the social volume can-
not fail to increase, since each species is constituted by a repeti-
tion of societies of the immediately anterior species.

There are exceptions, however. The Jewish nation, before
the conquest, was probably more volumino us than the Roman
city of the fourth century. Nevertheless, it was of an inferior
species. C hina and Russia are a great deal more populous
than the most civilized nations of Europe. With these people,
consequently, the division of labor is not developed in propor-
tion to the social volume. That is because the increase of vol-
ume is not necessarily a mark of superiority if the density does
not increase at the same time and in the same relation, for a
society can attain great dimensions because it comprises a very
great number of segments, whatever may be the nature of the
latter. If, then, even the most vast among them reproduce only
societies of very inferior type, the segmental structure will re-
main very pronounced, and, consequently, social organization
little elevated. Even an immense aggregate of clans is below
the smallest organized society, since the latter has run through
stages of evolution within which the other has remained. In
the same way, if the number of social units has influence on the
division of labor, it is not through itself and necessarily, but it is
The village, which is originally only a fixed clan.

262

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

because the number of social relations generally increases with
that of individuals. But, for this result to be attained, it is
not enough that society take in a great many people, but they
must be, in addition, intimately enough in contact to act and
react on one another. If they are, on the contrary, separated
by opaque milieux, they can only be bound by rare and weak
relations, and it is as if ^hey had snaall populations. The I
increase of social volume does not, then, always accelerate the/
advances of the division of labor, but only when the mass is
contracted at the same time and to the same extent. Conse-
quently, it is only an additional factor, but when it is joined to
the first, it amplifies its effects by action peculiar to it, and
tl^erefore is to be distinguished from that.

jWe can then formulate the following proposition ; The divi-
sion of labor varies in direct ratio with the volume and density of,
societies, and, if it progresses in a continuous manner in the coumli
of social development, it is because societies become regularly dens^
and generally more voluminous. >'*

At all times, it is true, it has been well understood that there
was a relation between these two orders of fact, for, in order
that functions be more specialized, there must be more co-opera-
tors, and they must be related to co-operate. But, ordinarily,
this state of societies is seen only as the means by which the
division of labor develops, and not as the cause of its develop-
ment. The latter is made to depend u^Jon individual aspira-
tions jtQward-^well-being and happiness, which can be satisfied
so much better as societies are more extensive and more coh-
Idensed. The law we have just established is quite otherwise.
We say, not that the growth and condensation of societies per-
mit, but that they necessitate a greater division of labor. It is
not an instrument by which the latter is realized ; it is its deter-
mining cause.'^

On this point, we can still rely on Comte as authority. I must,” he said,
”now indicate the progressive condensation of our species as a last general con-
current element in regulating the effective speed of the social movement. We
can first easily recognise that this influence contributes a great deal, especially
in origin, in determining a more special division of human labor, necessarily

THE CAUSES 263

But how can the manner in which this double cause produces
its effect be represented ?

II

''According to Spencer, the increase of social volume has an
influence which does not determine the advances of the division
of labor, but only accelerates these advances. It is only an
adjunct condition of the phenomenon. Unstable by nature,
all homogeneous masses become strongly heterogeneous, what-
ever their dimensions. They become more completely and
more rapidly differentiated, however, the greater their exten-
sion. In effect, as this heterogeneity springs up because the
different parts of the mass are exposed to the action of different
forces, it is so much greater as there are more diversely situated
parts. As S pencer s ays in this instance, (when a community,
Isecoming populous, is spread over a great area, and is so firmly
established that its members live and die in their respective dis-
tricts, it maintains its diverse sections in different physical cir-
cumstances, and thus these sections can no longer remain alike
with respect to their occupations. Those who live dispersed
continue to hunt and cultivate the soil ; those on the sea-shore
devote themselves to maritime occupations, the inhabitants of
some site, chosen perhaps for its central position, as a place of
periodic reunions, becon^e merchants, and a city is founded.
A difference in the soil or climate causes specialized occupations
in diverse regions of the country, and singles out the production
of cattle, sheep, or wheat.'® ''Tn short, the variety of environ-
ments in which individuals are placed produces in them differ-,

incompatible with a small number of co-operators. Besides, by a most intimate
and little known property, although still most important, such a condensation
stimulates dirjectly, in a very powerful manner, the most rapid development of
social evolution, either in driving individuals to new efforts to assure themselves
by more refined means of an existence which otherwise would become more
difficult, or by obliging society with more stubborn and better concentrated
energy to fight more stiffly against the more powerful effort of particular diver-
gences. With one and the other, we see that it is not a question here of the
absolute increase of the number of individuals, but especially of their more in-
tense concourse in a given space.” Cours, IV, p. 465.

« First Principles, p. 381.

264

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

ent aptitudes determi ning thei r specializatio n in div ergent
sen^, and this specmlization grows with the dimensions of
societies, it is because these external differences increase at the
same time.x*

There is jao dou bt thaj external conditions l eave their m ark
upon individ^ls, and through their diversity ca use differen tia-
ffon/ l ^ut the question is whether this diversity, doubtlessly
^'ated to the division of labor, is sufficient to constitute it. To
be sure, explanation can be made by referring to the properties
of the soil and climatic conditions, inhabitants producing wheat
here, elsewhere sheep and cattle. But functional di fferen ces
are not always reduced, as in these examples, to simple distinc-
^hsT^TKey are sometimes so marked off that the individuals
among whom work is divided form a great many distinct and
eVen opposed species. One might say there was deliberate con-
spiracy for the utmost deviation. What resemblance is there
between the brain thinking and the stomach digesting? Like-
wise, what is there in common between the poet entirely
wrapped up in his dream, the scholar entirely in his researches,
the workman spending his life making pin-heads, the plowman
wielding his plow, the shopkeeper behind his counter? How-
ever great the variety of external circumstances may be, it no-
where presents disparities relative to the contrasts thus strongly
indicated, and which consequently might be able to render an
account of it. Even if one compares, not widely separated
functions, but only the diverse branches of the same function,
it is often entirely impossible to see to what external differences
their separation can be due. Scientific work steadily becomes
more specialized. What are the climatic, geological, or even
social conditions which can have given birth to the different
talents of the mathematician, chemist, naturalist, pi^ychologist,
etc.?

v^ut, even where external circumst ances most strikin gly cause
incUviduals to specia lize ^Oehnlte sgn^jj th e;^jare not~ suflB-
oent to determine tiie specialization.V(By consti^ion, woman
is pre^iupos^ to 1^ a Me ^mnt mm man. Nevertheless,

THE CAUSES

265

there are societies in which the occupations of the sexes are in
fact the same. Because of age, because of the blood relations
he has with his children, the father is the one who exercises the
authority in the family, an authority constituting paternal
power. Nevertheless, in the matriarchal family, it is not in him
that this authority rests. It appears quite natural that the
different members of the family should have duties, that is to
say, different functions according to their degree of relationship ;
that father and uncle, brother and cousin, have neither the same
rights nor the same duties. There are, however, familial types
where all the adults play the same role and are on the same plane
of equality, whatever their relations of consanguinity. The
inferior situation the prisoner of war occupies in the midst of a
victorious tribe seems to condemn him — if his life is spared —
to the lowest social functions. We have seen, however, that he
is often assimilated into the conquering tribe and becomes an
equal.

••''If these differences make possible the division of labor, they
do not necessitate it. Because they are given, it does not rigor-
ously follow that they are utilized.*^ They count for little along
side of the resemblances men continue to present among them.
It is only an indistinct beginning. or specialization of activity
to result, they must be developed and organized, and this devel-
opment evidently depends on other causes than the variety of
external conditions./ But, says Spencer, it will come about of
itself, because it follows the line of least resistance and all the
forces of nature will invincibly bear in that direction. As-
suredly, if men specialize, it will be in the sense marked by these
natural differences, for it is in this way that they will have the
least trouble and the most profit. But why do they speciahze?
What makes them lean towards distinguishing themselves from
others? Spencer ably explains in what manner evolution will
be produced, if it does take place, but he does not tell us the
source producing it. As a matter of fact, the question is not
even raised for him. ^e admits, in effect, that happiness in-
creases with the productive power of work. Each time, then,

266 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

that a new means of dividing work is made available, it seems
to him impossible for us not to seize it. But we know things do
not happen in this way. In truth, this means has value for us
only if we find need of it, and as primitive man has no need of
all the products civilized man has learned to desire and with
which a more complex organization of work has provided him,
we can understand the source of this increasing specialization
of tasks only if we know how these new needs are constituted.

Ill

/if work becomes divided more as societies become more
voluminous and denser, it is not because external circumstances
are more varied, but because struggle for existence is more acute, j
Darwin justly observed that the struggle between two organ-
isms is as active as they are analogous. Having the same needs
and pursuing the same objects, they are in rivalry everywhere.'
As long as they have more resources than they need, they can
still live side by side, but if their number increases to such pro-
portions that all appetites can no longer be sufficiently satis-
fied, war breaks out, and it is as violent as this insufficiency is
more marked; that is to say, as the number in the struggle
increase. It is quite otherwise jf the co-existing indiv idual s are
of different species or varieties. As they do not feed in the same
manner, and do not lead the same kind of life, they do not dis-
turb each other. What is advantageous to one is without value
to the others. The chances of conflict thus diminish with
chances of meeting, and the more so as the species or varieties
are more distant from one another.* Thus, Darwin says that
in a small area, opened to immigration, and where, consequently,
the conflict of individuals must be acute, there is always to be
seen a very great diversity in the species inhabiting it. He
found turf three feet by four which had been exposed for long
years to the same conditions of life nourishing twenty species
of plants belonging to eighteen genera and eight classes. This
clearly proves how differentiated they are.^* Everybody, be-
Origin of Speeiet*

THE CAUSES

267

sides, has observed that in the same field with grain a great
number of weeds can grow. Animals^ themselves, prosper
more when they di ffer m ore. On an oak-tree there were found
two hundred species of insects having no other relationship than
neighborhood. Some feed upon the fruits of the tree, others
on the leaves, others on the bark and roots. “It would be,”
says Haeckel, “absolutely impossible for such a number of indi-
viduals to live on this tree if all belonged to the same species,
if all, for example, lived upon the bark, or only the leaves.”
Likewise, in the interior of the organism, what softens the con-
flict between different tissues is that they feed upon different
substances.

Men submit to the same law. In the same, city, 'different
occupations can co-exist without being obliged mutually to de-
stroy one another, for they pursue different objects.'' The
Soldier seeks military glory, the priest moral authority, the
statesman power, the business man riches, the scholar scientific
renown. ''Each of them can attain his end without preventing
the others from attaining theirs':^ It is the same even when the
functions are less separated from one another. The oculist
does not struggle with the psychiatrist, nor the shoemaker with
the hatter, nor the mason with the cabinet maker, nor the physi-
cist with the chemist, etc. Since they perform different services,
they can perform them parallelly.

The closer functions come to one another, however, the
more points of contact they have; the more, consequently,
are they exposed to conflict. As in this case they satisfy similar
needs by different means, they inevitably seek to curtail the
other’s development. The judge never is in competition with
the business man, but the brewer and the wine-grower, the
clothier and the manufacturer of silks, the poet and the musi-
cian, often try to supplant each other. As for those who have
exactly the same function, they can forge ahead only to the
detriment of others. If, then, these different functions are
represented as a series of branches issuing from a common

History of Naiural Creation.

268 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

trunk, the struggle is at its minimum between the extreme
points, whereas it increases steadily as we approach the centre.
It is so, not only in the interior of each city, but in all society.
Similar occupations situated on different points of land are as
competitive as they are alike, provided the diflBculty of com-
munication and transport does not restrict the circle of action.

That settled, it is easy to understand that all condensation
of the social mass, especially if it is accompanied by an increase
in population, necessarily determines advances in the division
of labor.)

Indeed, let us suppose an industrial centre providing a
certain region of the country with a special product. iThe
development it may possibly attain is doubly limited; /first,
by the extent of needs^at must satisfied, or, as has been
said, by the size of themarEeF,~then by the .cont rol of the means
of production at its~dlspbsat Normially^ it does not produce
more than 'is^heSessaryT^till less does it produce more than it
can. But if it is impossible to surpass the boundary thus
marked, it tries to attain it, for it is in the nature of a force to
develop all its energy as long as nothing intervenes to stop it.
Once arrived at this point, it is adapted to conditions of exist-
ence. It is found in a position of equilibrium which cannot
change if nothing else changes.

But it happens that a region, heretofore independent of this
centre, is bound to it through means of communication which
partially overcome the distance. At the same time, one of the
barriers which hemmed it in is lowered or, at least, recedes.
The market is extended, there are now more needs to satisfy.
To be sure, if all the particular enterprises it comprises had
already realized the maximum of production they could attain,
things would remain in ataiu qw, since they could extend them-
selves no further. Such a condition, however, is wholly ideal.
In reality, there is always a considerable number of enterprises
which have not reached their limit and which have, consequently,
power to go further. Since there is a free field for them, they
necessarily seek to spread and fill it. If they meet similar

THE CAUSES

269

enterprises which offer resistance, the second hold back the
first; they are mutually limited, and, consequently, their
mutual relationships are not changed. There are, to be sure,
more competitors, but, as they share a greater market, the
part of each remains the same. But if some of them present
some inferiority, they will necessarily have to yield ground
heretofore occupied by them, but in which they cannot be
maintained under the new conditions of conflict. They no
longer have any alternative but to disappear or transform, and
this transformation must necessarily end in a new specialization.
For if, instead of immediately creating another specialty, the
feeblest preferred to adopt another occupation, already exist-
ent, they would have to compete with those in practice. The
struggle would not then be over, but only placed somewhere
else, and it would produce consequences in another sector.
'Finally, somewhere there would have to be elimination or a new
differentiation. One need not add that, if society effectively
includes more members at the same time as they are more closely
in relation to each other, the struggle is still more acute and the
resulting specialization more rapid and complete.

In other words, in proportion to the segmental character of
the social constitution, each segment has its own organs, pro-
tected and kept apart from like organs by divisions separating
the different segments. But as these divisions are swept away,
inevitably like organs are put into contact, battling and trying
to supplant one another. But, no matter how this substitution
is made, it caimot fail to produce advances in the course of
specialization. For, on the one hand, the triumphant segmental
oi^an, as it were, can take care of the vaster task devolving upon
it only by a greater division of labor, and, on the other hand,
the vanquished can maintain themselves only by concentrating
their efforts upon a part of the total function they fulfilled up
to then. The small employer becomes a foreman, the small
merchant becomes an employee, etc. This can be more or less
considerable, depending upon whether the inferiority is more or
less marked. It even happens that the original function is

270

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

simply divided into two equal parts, .instead of entering into
or remaining in comp etition, twq similar enterprises estab lish
equilibrium by sharing their common task. Instead of one
bemg subordinate to the other, they co-ordinate. B utri n all
ca^s, new specialties appear, x

/Although the preceding examples are borrowed particularly
from economic life, this explanation applies to all social func-
tions indiscriminately/ Scientific and artistic work is divided
in no other manner, and for no other reason. It is, again,
through the same causes that, as we have seen, the central
regulative system absorbs the local regulative organs and
reduces them to the role of special auxiliaries.

With all these changes, is there an increase in average happi-
ness? There is no reason for so believing. The greater in-
tensity of the struggle implies new and difficult attempts which
are not naturally made to contribute towards making men
happier. Everything takes place mechanically. jA break in
the equiUbrium of the social mass raises conflicts ^hich can be
resolved only by a more developed division of labor. Such is
the moving power of progress. As for external circumstances,
the varied combinations of heredity, just as slopes of the earth
determine the direction of the current, but do not create it, so
they mark the sense in which specialization takes place where
it is necessary, but they do not necessitate it. The individual
differences they produce would remain in a state of potentiality
if, to meet new difficulties, we were not forced to project and.
develop them. ^

^*The div^ion of labor is, then, a result of the struggle for
I e xistenc e/ A>ut it is a mellowed denouement. Thanks to it,
^opponents are not obliged to fight to a finish, but can exist one
beside the other. Also, in proportion to its development, it
furnishes the means of maintenance and survival to a greater
number of individuals who, in more homogeneous societies,
would be condemned to extinction. Among a great many
lower peoples, all malformed organisms must perish, for they
fulfill no function. Sometimes, law, advancing and in some way

THE CAUSES

271

consecrating the r esults of natural selecti on, condemned those
born infirm or weak to death, and Aristotle himself*^® found
this custom natural. It is quite otherwise in more advanced
societies. A sickly individual can find in the complex forms of
our social organization a place where it is possible for him to
render services. Ijf h^s.is physically weak, byt. good brain,
he will d evote h imself to sedentary work, to speculative func-
tions. * if his brain is weak, “he will no doubt have to renounce
intellectual competition, but society has in its secondary
compartments unimportant posts which will prevent his elim-
ination.” In the same way, among primitive tribes, the
vanquished enemy is put to death ; where industrial functions
are separated from military functions he lives as a slave beside
the conqueror.

There a rp i numh"- circumstances where different func-
tions enter into competition. Thus, in the individual organism,
during a long fast, the nervous system is nourished at the
expense of the other organs, and the same phenomenon is pro-
duced if cerebral activity develops too considerably. It is the
same in society. In time of famine or economic crisis, the
vital functions are obliged, in order to maintain themselves, to
support themselves at the expense of less essential functions.
Industries of luxury are ryined, and the part of the public for-
tune which served to support them is absorbed by food-in-
dustries, or objects of prime necessity. Or again, it may be
that an organism attains a degree of abnormal activity, dis-
proportionate to needs, and that, to provide the expense
caused by this exaggerated development, it must take a share
of others. For example, there are societies where there are
too many functionaries, or too many soldiers, or too many
officers, or too many intermediaries, or too many priests, etc.
The other occupations suffer from this hypertrophy . But all
tjie§q cases are pjitholqgical. They are due to the fact that the
nutrition of the organism is irregularly taken care of, or that
functional equilibrium has been broken.

*•« PolUics, IV (VII), 16, 1335b, 20 ff. “ Bordier, Vie dee SoeHUa, p. 46.

272

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

But an objection presents itself :

An industry can exist only if it answers some need. A fun c-
%n .can HcQIS?, speijiaAize^i

sgonds to some need of jociety. But all new specialization
results in increasing and ir^roying production. If this^jtd-
'vantage is not the^division of labors reason" for exigtin g, i t is
ife‘' ^[6ce88g iT;‘ T!^^Q^uencfi^ Therefore, advance can be estab-
li^ra in pennanenl form only if individuals really feel the
need of more abundant products, or products of better quality.
As long as transportation was not organized, each one traveled
by the means at his disposal, and was adapted to this environ-
ment. For it to become a specialty, however, men had to
cease being satisfied with what had, till then, satisfied them and
become more exacting. But whence could thes e new demtinds
come?

"They are an effect of the same cause which determines the
progress of the division of labor. We have just seen that such
progress is due to the greater acuteness of the struggle. * But
a more violent struggle does not proceed without great depletion
of forces, and, consequently, without great fatigue. *But for
life to be maintained, . reparation. must be proportiona te to the
expenditure.* That is why the dispensations, until thenTsuf-
ficient to restore OTganic equilibrium,, are insufficient from
then on. 'fKere must be a more abundant and choicer suste-
nance. It is thus that the peasant whose work is less exhausting
than that of the workman in the cities can bear a poorer sus-
tenance. The latter cannot be content with vegetable food,
and even so, there is a great deal of difficulty in counterbalanc-
ing the deficit that intense and continuous work each day causes
in the budget of the organism.'*

On the other hand, it is especially the nervous system that
supports all these burdens,** for it must devise ingenious methods
to keep up the struggle, to create new specialties, to acclimatize
them, etc. In general, the more subject to change the en-

See Bordier, op. pp. 166 ff.

** iMff^n^eacence et CtiminalxU, p. 88.

THE CAUSES

273

vironment is, the greater the part intelUgence plays in life, for
it alone can have new conditions of equilibrium continually
broken, and yet restore it. Cerebral life develops, then, at the
same time as competition becomeT1^^ner7"ahd‘ lb the same'
degree. These advances are observed not only aiKIGlig’ the
elite, but in all classes of society. On this point, it is only
necessary to compare the worker with the farmer. It is a
known fact that the first is a great deal more intelligent in spite
of the mechanical nature of the tasks to which he is often subject.
Besides, it is not without cause that mental diseases keep pace
with civilization, nor that they rage in cities rather than in the
country, and in large cities more than in small ones.^* Now, a
more voluminous and more delicate brain makes greater de-
mands than a less refined one. Difiiculties and privations the
latter does not even feel painfully disturb the former. For the
same reason, more complex stimulants are needed to affect this
organ agreeably once it is refined, and there is greater necessity
for them, because it has been developing at the same time. Fi-
nally, more than all others, needs properly intellectual increase ; ^
rough explanations no longer satisfy more perspicuous minds.
Fresh insights are needed and science holds these aspirations
together at the same time that it satisfies them.

All these changes are, then, mechanically produced by neces-
sary causes. If our intelligence and sensibility develop and
become keener, it is because we exercise them more, and if we
exercise them more, it is because we are forced to by the greater
violence of the struggle we have to live through. That is how,
without having desired it, humanity is found apt to receive a
more intense and more varied culture.

If another factor did not intervene, however, this simple
predisposition would not of itself rear the means for satisfac-
tion, for it constitutes only an aptitude for enjoyment. As
Bain has said, simple aptitudes for enjoyment do not necessarily

See article AlUnation mentale in the Dictionnaire encyclopidique dea sciences
midicales.

This development of intellectual or scientific life has still another cause, as
we shall see in the following chapter.

274 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

provoke desire ; we can be so constituted that we take pleasure
in cultivating music, painting, science, and yet do not desire
them if we are always kept from them.“ Even when we are
impelled towards an object by hereditary and strong impulsion,
we can desire it only after having entered into relations with
it. The adolescent who has never heard speak of sexual rela-
tions nor of their pleasures can feel a vague and indefinable
restlessness, and feel the lack of something, but he does not know
what, and, consequently, he has no sexual desires properly speak-
ing. Besides, these indeterminate aspirations can rather easily
deviate from their natural ends and their normal direction.
But, at the very moment when man is in a position to taste
these new enjoyments and calls for them, even unconsciously,
he finds them within his reach, because the division of labor has
developed at the same time, and furnishes them to him.* With-
QUt there having been the le ast pre-established harmony, these
two orders of fact meet, simply because they are effects of the
same cause. f

Here is how the meeting can be conceived. The a ttraction
of novelty would be sufficient to impel man to taste these pleas-"
ures. It naturally follows that the greater nchness and com-
plexity of these stimulants would cause him to find those with
which he had been content more mediocre. He can, besides,
adapt himself to them mentally before having tried them, and
as, in reality, they correspond to changes in his constitution,
he hastens to benefit from them. Experience thus comes to
confirm these presentiments ; needs which were sleeping awaken,
are determined, become aware of themselves, and are organized.

( This is not to say that this adjustment may be in all cases per-
fect, that each new product due to new advances in the division
of labor always corresponds to a real need of our nature. It
is, on the contrary, likely that rather often needs are con-
tracted only because one has become accustomed to the object
to which they are related. This object was neither necessary
nor useful, but it has been experienced several times, and it has

" "tht Emotion* and the WiU.

THE CAUSES

275

been so well enjoyed that it cannot be denied. Harmonies
resulting from quite mechanical causes can never be anything
but imperfect and proximate, but they are sufficient to maintain
order in general. That is what happens to the division of labor.
The advances it makes are, not in all cases, but generally, in
harmony with changes in man, and that is what permits them
to last.

But, to repeat, we are not happier for that. To be sure,
once these needs are excited, they cannot be suspended without
pain. But our happiness is no greater because they are excited.*
The point at which we measure the relative intensity of our
pleasures is displaced. A subversion of all gradation results.
But this confusion of classes of pleasures does not imply an in-
crease. • Because the environment is no longer the same, we
have to change, and these changes have determined others in
bur manner of being happy, but changes do not necessarily
imply progress.

/The division of labor appears to us otherwise than it does to
economists. For them, it essentially consists in greater pro-
duction. For us, this greater productivity is only a necessary
consequence, a repercussion of the phenomenon. If we special-
ize,lt is not*to produce more, hut it is to enable us to live in new
conditions of existence that have been made for us.

IV

A corollary of all that has preceded is that the division of
labor can be effectuated only among- members of an already
constituted society.

In effect, when competition places isolated and estranged
individuals in opposition, it can only separate them more. If
there is a lot of space at their disposal, they will flee ; if they
cannot go beyond certain boundaries, they will differentiate
themselves, so as to become still more independent. No case
can be cited where relations of pure hostility are transformed,
without the intervention of any other factor, into social rela-
tions. Thus, as among individuals of the same animal or vege-

276

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

table species, there is generally no bond, the war they wage
has no other result than to diversify them, to give birth to dis-
similar varieties which grow farther apart. It is this progres-
sive disjunction that Darwin called the law of the divergence of
characters, '^ut the division of labor unites at the same time
that it opposes; it makes the activities it differentiates con-
verge ; it brings together those it separate^v^ince competition
cannot have determined this conciliation, it must have existedj
before. The individuals among whom the struggle is wagecf
must already be solidary and feel so. That is to say, they
must belong to the same society.’^ That is why, where this
feeling of solidarity is too feeble to resist the dispersive influence
of competition, the latter engenders altogether different effects
from the division of labor. In countries where existence is too
difficult because of the extreme density of the population, the
inhabitants, instead of specializing, retire from society, either
permanently or temporarily and leave for other countries. •

To represent what the division of labor is suffices to make
one understand that it cannot be otherwise. It consists in the
sharing of functions up to that time common. But this sharing |
cannot be executed according to a preconceived plan. We canp
not tell in advance where the line of demarcation betweeii
tasks will be found once they are separated, for it is not marked)
so evidently in the nature of things, but depends, on the con-J
trary , upon a multitude of circumstances. The division of labor,
then, must come about of itself and progressively. Conse-
quently, under these conditions, for a function to be divided
into two exactly complementary parts, as the nature of the
division of labor demands, it is indispensable that the two
specializing parts be in constant communication during all the
time that this dissociation lasts. There is no other means for
one to receive all the movement the other abandons, and which
they adapt to each other. But in the same way that an animal
colony whose members embody a continuity of tissue form one
individual, every aggregate of individuals who are in continuous
contact form a society. The division of labor can then be

THE CAUSES

277

produced only in the midst of a pre-existing society. By that,
we do not mean to say simply that individuals must adhere
materially, but it is still necessary that there be moral links
between them. First, material continuity by itself produces
links of this kind, provided it is durable. But, moreover, they
are directly necessary. If the relations becoming established
in the period of groping were not subject to any rule, if no
power moderated the conflict of individual interests, there
would be chaos from which no new order could emerge. It is
thought, it is true, that everything takes place through private
conventions freely disputed. Thus, it seems that all social
action is absent. But this is to forget that contracts are
possible only where a juridical regulation, and, consequently, a
society, already exists.

Hence, the claim sometimes advanced that in the division of
•labor lies the fundamental fact of all social life is wrong. Work
is not divided among independent and already differentiated
individuals who by uniting and associating bring together their
different aptitudes.'' For it would be a miracle if differences
thus bom through chance circumstance could unite so perfectly
as to form a coherent whole. Far from preceding collective
life, they derive from it. They can be produced only in the
midst of a society, and under the pressure of social sentiments
and social needs. That is what makes them essentially har-
monious. There is, then, a social life outside the whole division
of labor, but which the latter presupposes. That is, indeed,
what we have directly established in showing that there are
societies whose cohesion is essentially due to a community of
beliefs and sentiments, and it is from these societies that those
whose unity is assured by the division of labor have emerged.
The conclusions of the preceding book and those which we have
just reached can then be used to control and mutually confirm
each other. The division of physiological labor is itself sub-
mitted to this law; it never appears except in the midst of
polycellular masses which are already endowed with a certain
cohesion.

278 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

For a number of theorists, it is a self-evident truth that all
society essentially consists of co-operation. Spencer has said
that a society in the scientific sense of the word exists only when
to the juxtaposition of individuals co-operation is added.*'* We
have just seen that this so-called axiom is contrary to the truth.
Rather it is evident, aS^uguste Comte points out, ‘‘that co-oper-
ation, far from having produced society, necessarily supposes,
as preamble, its spontaneous existence.J^ ‘What bring men
together are mechanical causes and impulsive forces, such as
affinity of blood, attachment to the same soil, ancestral worship,
community of habits, etc. It is only when the group has been
formed on these bases that co-operation is organized there.

Further, the only co-operation possible in the beginning is so
intermittent and feeble that social life, if it had no other source,
would be without force and without continuity. With stronger
reason, the co mplex co-oper ation resulting from the division of
labor is an~uiterior and derived^phSiomenon.' It results from
internal movements which are developed in the midst of the
mass, when the latter is constituted. It is true that once it
appears it tightens the social bonds and makes a more perfect
individuality of society. But this integration supposes an-
other which it replaces. For social units to be able to be
diflferentiated, they must first be attracted or grouped by
virtue of the resemblances they present. This process of for-
mation is observed, not only originally, but in each phase of evo-
lution. We know, indeed, that higher societies result from the
union of lower societies of the same type". It is necessary first
that these latter be mingled in the midst of the same identical
collective conscience for the process of differentiation to begin
or recommence. It is thus that more complex organisms are
formed by the repetition of more simple, similar organisms which
are differentiated only if once associated. ||n short, association
and co-operation are two distinct facts, and if the second, when
developed, reacts on the first and transforms it, if human socie-

** Princijdea of Sociolyy, III, p. 331.

^ Coura da Philoaophie positive^ IV» p. 421.

THE CAUSES

279

ties steadily become groups of co-operators, the duality of the
two phenomena does not vanish for all that.

If this important truth has been disregarded by the utilita-
rians, it is an error rooted in the manner in which they conceive
the genesis of society. They suppose originally isolated and
independent individuals, who, consequently, enter into relation-
ships only to co-operate, for they have no other reason to clear
the space separating them and to associate. But this theory,
so widely held, postulates a veritable creatio ex nihilo.

It consists, indeed, in deducing society from the individual.
But nothing we know authorizes us to believe in the possibility
of such spontaneous generation. According to Spencer, for
societies to be formed within this hypothesis, it is necessary
that primitive units pass from the state of perfect independence
to that of mutual dependence.^® But what can have deter-
mined such a complete transformation in them? Is it the
prospect of the advantages presented by social life? But they
are counterbalanced, perhaps more than counterbalanced, by
the loss of independence, for, among individuals bom for a
free and solitary life, such a sacrifice is most intolerable. Add
to this, that in the first social types social life is as absolute as
possible, for nowhere is the individual more completely absorbed
in the group. How would man, if he were bom an individualist,
as is supposed, be able to resign himself to an existence clashing
violently with his fundamental inclination? How pale the
problematical utility of co-operation must appear to him beside
such a fall ! With autonomous individualities, as are imagined,
nothing can emerge save what is individual, and, consequently,
co-operation itself, which is a social fact, submissive to social
mles, cannot arise. Thus, the psychologist who starts by re-
stricting himself to the ego cannot emerge to find the non-ego.

Collective life is not bom from individual life, but it is, on
the contrary, the second which is bom from the first. It is on
this condition alone that one can explain how the personal
individuality of social units has been able to be formed and

** Principles of Sociology^ III, p. 332.

280

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

enlarged without disintegrating society. Indeed, as, in this
case, it becomes elaborate in the midst of a pre-existing social
environment, it necessarily bears its mark. It is made in a
manner so as not to ruin this collective order with which it is
solidary. It remains adapted to it while detaching itself.
It has nothing anti-social about it because it is a product of
society. It is not the absolute personality of the monad, which
is sufficient unto itself, and could do without the rest of the
world, but that of an organ or part of an organ having its
determined function, but which cannot, without risking dis-
solution, separate itself from the rest of the organism. Under
these conditions, co-operation becomes not only possible but
necessary. Utilitarians thus reverse the natural order of facts,
and nothing is more deceiving than this inversion. It is a
particular illustration of the general truth that what is first in
knowledge is last in reality. Precisely because co-operation is
the most recent fact, it strikes sight first. If, then, one clings
to appearance, as does common sense, it is inevitable that one
see in it the primary fact of moral and social life.

But if it is not all of ethics, it is not necessary to put it
outside ethics, as do certain moralists. As the utilitarians,
the idealists have it consist exclusively in a system of economic
relations, of private arrangements in which egotism is the only
active power. In truth, the moral life traverses all the relations
which constitute co-operation, since it would not be possible if
social sentiments, and, consequently, moral sentiments, did not
preside in its elaboration.

Attention will be called to the international division of labor.
It seems evident, in this case at least, that individuals among
whom labor is divided do not belong to the same society. But
it must be recalled that a group can, while keeping its individu-
ality, be enveloped by another, vaster and containing several
of the same kind. It can be affirmed that an economic or any
other function can be divided between two societies only if they
participate from certain points of view in the same common life,

THE CAUSES

281

and, consequently, belong to the same society. Suppose,
indeed, that these two collective consciences have no common
meeting-ground, it is not possible for the two aggregates to have
the continuous contact which is necessary, nor, consequently, for
one to abandon its functions to the other. For one people to
be penetrated by another, it must cease to hold to an exclusive
patriotism, and learn another which is more comprehensive.

Moreover, this relation of facts can be directly observed in
most striking fashion in the international division of labor that
history offers us. It can truly be said that it has never been
produced except in Europe and in our time. But it was at
the end of the eighteenth century and at the beginning of the
nineteenth that a common conscience of European societies
began to be formed. “There is," says Sorel, “a prejudice it is
important to get rid of. That is to represent I^urope of the
bid regime as a society of regularly constituted states, in which
each formed its conduct according to principles recognized by all,
in which respect for established law governed transactions and
dictated treaties, in which good faith directed their execution,
where sentiment of solidarity of monarchies assured, with the
maintenance of public order, the duration of engagements
contracted by princes. ... A Europe where the rights of each
resulted from the duties of all was something so foreign to
statesmen of the old regime that they needed war for a quarter
of a century, the most formidable yet seen, to impose this idea
upon them and prove its necessity. The attempt made at the
Congress of Vienna and at the meetings following to give Europe
an elementary organization was progress, and not a return to the
past." Inversely, every return to strict nationalism always
results in a protectionist spirit, that is, in a tendency of peoples
to isolate themselves from one another economically and morally.

If, however, in certain cases, peoples tied by no bond, even
regarding themselves as enemies,*® exchange products in a more

^ L* Europe et la RSvoluiion frangaise, I, pp. 9 and 10.

See Kulischer, Der Handel auf den primitiven Kvlturstufen (Zeitachrift filr
Voelkerpaychologie, X, 1877, p. 378) and Schrader, lAnguiatiach-hiatoriache
Forachungen zur Handdageachichte, Jena, 1886.

282 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

or less regular manner, it is necessary to see in these facts only
simple relations of mutualism having nothing in common with
the division of labor.^* For, merely because two different
organisms are found to have properties usefully adjusted, it
does not follow that there is a division of functions between
them.*®

*• It is true that mutualism is generally produced among individuals of differ-
ent species, but the phenomenon remains identical, even when it takes place
among individuals of the same species. (See on mutualism, Espinas, Soditia
animaleSt and Giraud, Les SociiUs chez lea animaux.)

We wish to point out at the close that in this chapter we have only studied
how it happens that generally the division of labor steadily continues to advance,
and we have elucidated the determinant causes of this advance. But it may
very well happen that in a particular society a certain division of labor, and no-
tably the division of economic labor, may be greatly developed, although the
segmental type may be strongly pronounced there. This seems to be the case
with England. Great industry and commerce appear to be as developed there
as on the continent, although the cellular system is still very marked, as both the
autonomy of local life and the authority of tradition serve to prove. (The symp-
tomatic value of this last fact will be determined in the following chapter.)

That is because the division of labor, being a derived and secondary phenome-
non, as we have just seen, passes on the surface of social life, and this is espe-
cially true of the division of economic labor. But, in all organisms, the super-
ficial phenomena, by their very situation, are much more accessible to the action
of external causes, even when internal causes on which they generally depend
are not modified. It is sufficient, then, that some sort of circumstance excite
an urgent need of material well-being with a people for the division of economic
labor to be developed without the social structure sensibly changing. The spirit
of imitation, the contact of a more refined civilization can produce this result.
It is thus that understanding, being the culminating part and, consequently, the
most superficial part of conscience, can rather easily be modified by external
influences, as education, without the seat of psychical life being changed. One
thus creates intelligences sufficient to assure success, but which are not deep-
rooted. Hence, this kind of talent is not transmitted by heredity.

This comparison shows that one must not judge the place of a society on the
social ladder according to its state of civilization, especially of its economic civi-
lisation, for the latter can be only an imitation, a copy, and conceal a social struc-
ture of inferior species. The case, it is true, is exceptional. It appears, however.

It is only in these instances that the material density of societies does not
exactly express the state of moral density. The principle we have posed is
then true in a very general manner, and that is sufficient for our proof.

CHAPTER THREE

SECONDARY FACTORS

Progressive Indetermination of the Common
Conscience and Its Causes

We saw in the first part of this work that'the collective con-
science became weaker and vaguer as the division of labor
developed. It is, indeed, through this progressive indeterminj^
tion that the division of labor becomes the principal source at
solidarity/ Since these two phenomena are linked at this point, \
it will be useful to seek the causes for this regression. Doubt-
less, having demonstrated with what regularity this regression
is produced, we have directly proved its certain dependence
upon some fundamental conditions of social evolution. But
this conclusion of the preceding book would be still more indis-
putable if we could find what these conditions are.

This question is, moreover, solidary with the one we are now
treating. We have just shown that the advances of^he division
of labor are due to the stronger pressure. exercised by social
units upon one another which obliges them to develop in increas-
ingly divergent directions.'^ But this pressure is at each moment
neutralized by a contrary pressure that the common conscience
exercises on each particular conscience. Whereas one impels us
to become a distinct personality, the other, on the contrary,
demands our resemblance to everybody else. Whereas the
first has us following our personal bent, the second holds us
back and prevents us from deviating from the collective tjrpe.
In other words, for the division of labor to be bom and grow,
it is not sufficient that there be potentialities for special aptitudes
in individuals, nor that they be aroused to specialize in the di-
rection of these aptitudes, but it is very necessary that individual

283

284 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

variations be possible. But they cannot be produced when
they are opposed to some strong and defined state of th^collec-
tive conscience, for the stronger the state, the greater the resist-
ance to all that may weaken it.; the more defined, tbe less
place it leaves for changes. ■'It can thus be seen that the progress
of the division of labor will be as much more difficult and slow
as the common conscience is vital and precise. Inversely, it
will be as much more rapid as the individual is enabled to put
himself in harmony with his personal environment.*' But, for
that, the existence of the environment is not sufficient ; each
must be free to adapt himself to it, that is to say, be capable of
independent movement even when the whole group does not
move with him. But we know that the movements of individ-
uals are proportionately as rare as mechanical solidarity is more
developed.

Examples are numerous where this neutralizing influence of
the common conscience on the division of labor can be directly
observed. As long as law and custom make a strict obligation
of the inalienability and communism of real estate, the neces-
sary conditions for the division of labor do not exist. Each
family forms a compact mass, and all devote themselves to the
same occupation, to the exploitation of the hereditary patri-
mony. Among the Slavs, the Zadruga is often increased to such
proportions that great misery becomes prevalent. Nevertheless,
as domestic spirit is very strong, they generally continue to live
together, instead of taking up special occupations such as
mariner and merchant outside. In other societies, where the
division of labor is more advanced, each class has determinate
functions, always the same, sheltered from all innovation.
Elsewhere, there are entire classes of occupations whose culti-
vation is more or less forbidden to citizens. In Greece,^ in
Rome,* industry and commerce were scorned careers. Among
the Kabyles, certain trades like those of butcher, shoemaker,

^ BUssohenahUtz, BesiU und Erwerb.

* According to Dionysius of Halicarnassus (IX, 25), during the first years of
the Republic, no Roman could become merchant or worker. Cicero even speaks
of all mercenary work as a degrading calling. (De Oif., I, 42.)

SECONDARY FACTORS

285

etc. are held in low esteem by public opinion.® Specialization,
thus, carmot move in these various directions. Finally, even
with those peoples where economic life has already attained
some development, as with us during the days of the old corpo-
rations, functions were regulated in such a way that the division
of labor could not progress. W^ere everyone was , obliged to
manufacture in the same manner, all individual variation was
impo^ible.^

' The same phenomenon shows itself in the representative life
of societies. Religion, the eminent form of the common con-
science, origin^ly aljsorbs all representative functions with
practical functions. The first are not dissociated from the
second until philosophy appears. But this is possible only
when religion has lost something of its hold. This new way of
representing things clashes with collective opinion which resists
it. It has sometimes been said that free thought makes religious
beliefs regress, but that supposes, in its turn, a preliminary
regression of these same beliefs. It can arise only if the common
faith permits.

The same antagonism breaks out each time a new science is
founded. Christianity itself, although it instantly gave indi-
vidual reflection a larger place than any other religion, could
not escape this law. To be sure, the opposition was less acute
as long as scholars limited their researches to the material
world since it was originally abandoned to the disputes of men.
Yet, as this surrender was never complete, as the Christian God
does not entirely ignore things of this world, it necessarily
happened that, on more than one point, the natural sciences
themselves found an obstacle in faith. But it is especially
when man became an object of science that the resistance be-
came fierce. The believer, indeed, cannot but find repugnant
the idea that man is to be studied as a natural being, analogous
to others, and moral facts as facts of nature. It is well known
how these collective sentiments, under the different forms they

’ Hanoteau and Letourneux, La Kabylie, II, p. 23.

^ See Levasseur, Les Ckases owaribres en France juequ'd, la B4volutiont pasaizn.

286 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

have taken, have hindered the development of psychology and
sociology.

There has been no complete explanation of the progress of
the division of labor when one has shown that it is necessary
because of changes in the social environment, but it still de-
pends upon secondary factors, which can either expedite or
hinder it, or completely thwart its course. It must not be for-
gotten that specialization is not the only possible solution to the
struggle for existence. There are also emigration, colonization,
resignation to a precarious, disputed existence, and, finally, the
total elimination of the weakest by suicide or some other means.
Since the result is in part contingent, and since the combatants
are not necessarily impelled towards one of these issues to the
exclusion of others, they tend toward the one closest to their
grasp. Of course, if nothing prevents the division of labor from
developing, they specialize. But if circumstances make this
too difficult or impossible, another means will be necessary.

The first of these factors consists of a greater independence
of individuals in relation to the group, permitting them to
diversify in freedom. The division of physiological labor is
submitted to the same condition. "Even related to one
another,” says Perrier, "the anatomic ele ments respectively
conserve all their individuality. Whatever may be their num-
ber, in the most elevated organisms as in the humblest, they
eat, increase, and reproduce with no thought of their neighbors.
Herein lies the law of independence of anaUmu element ^come so
fertile in the hands of physiologists. This independence must
be considered as the necessary condition for the free exercise
of a very general faculty of plastids, the variability under the
action of external circumstances or even of certain forces im-
manent in protoplasm. Thanks to their aptitude for varying
and their reciprocal independence, the elements, bom of one
another, and originally all alike, have been able to modify in
different directions, to assume diverse forms, to acquire new
functions and properties.” “

* Colonies animaUst P* 702 .

SECONDARY FACTORS

287

In contrast to what takes place in organisms, this indepen-
dence is not a pristine fact in societies, since originally the
individual is absorbed in the group. But we have seen that
independence later appears and progresses regularly with the
division of labor and the regression of the collective conscience.
There remains to discover how this useful condition of the divi-
sion of social labor is realized in proportion to its necessity.
Doubtless it depends upon causes which have determined the
advances in specialization. But how can this increase of soci-
eties in volume and in density have this result?

I

\ 'In a ^all society, since everyone is clearly placed in the
same conditions of existence, the collective environment is
fessentially concrete.- It is made up of beings of all sorts who
fill the social horizon. The states of conscience representing it
then have the same character. First, the y a re related to pre-
cise objects, as this animal, this tree, this plant, this natural
force, etc. Then, as everybody is related to these things in the
sam_e way, they affect all consciences in the same way. The
whole tribe, if it is not too widely extended, enjoys or suffers
the same advantages or inconveniences from the sun, rain,
heat, or cold, from this river, or that source, etc. The col-
lective impressions resulting from the fusion of all these in-
dividual impressions are then determined in form as well as in
object, and, consequently, the common conscience has a defined
character. But it changes its natur e as societies become more
vo lum inous. Because these s ociet ies are spread over a vaster
surface, the common conscience is itself obliged to rise above
all local diversities, to dominate more space, and consequently
to become more abstract. For not many general things can
be common to all these diverse environments. It is no longer
such an animal, but such a species ; not this source, but such
sources ; not this forest, but forest in abstracto.

Moreover, because conditions of life are no longer the same

288

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

everywhere, these common objects, whatever they may be,
can no lo nger deter mine 'Perfectly id entical sentiments every-
where. The collective resultants then no lo nger have the same
dmrpness, and the more so in this respect as their component
elements are more unlike. The more differences among indi>
vidual portraits serving to make a composite portrait, the more
indecisive the latter is. True it is that local collective con-
sciences can keep their individuality in the midst of the general
collective conscience and that, as they comprise less space,
they more easily remain concrete. But we know they slowly
tend to vanish from the first, in so far as the social segments to
which they correspond are effaced.

The fact which perhaps best manifests this increasing tend-
ency of the common conscience is the parallel transcendence of
^e most e^ntml of its elements, I mean the idea of divinity.
In the beginning, the gods are not distinct from the universe,
or rather there are no gods, but only sacred beings, without
their sacred character being related to any external entity as
their source. The animals or plants of the species which serves
as a clan-totem are the objects of worship, but that is not
because a principle sui generis comes to communicate their
divine nature to them from without. This nature is intrinsic
with them; they are divine in and of themselves. But little
by little religious forces are detached from the things of which
they were first only the attributes, and become hypostatized.
Thus is formed the notion of spirits or gods who, while residing
here or there as preferred, nevertheless exist outside of the
particular objects to which they are more specifically attached.'
By that very fact they are less concrete. Whether they mul-
tiply or have been led back to some certain unity, they are still
ifhmanent in the world. If they are in part separated from
things, they are always in space. They remain, then, very near
us, constantly fused into our life. The Graeco-Latin poly-
theism, which is a more elevated and better organized form of
animism, marks new progress in the direction of transcendence.

^-See R6ville, Rdiiiiona dea peuplea non civUiaU, I, pp. 67 ff. ; II, pp. 230 ff.

SECONDARY FACTORS 289

The residence of the gods becomes more sharply distinct from
that of men. Set upon the mysterious heights of Olympus or
dwelling in the recesses of the earth, they personally intervene
in human affairs only in somewhat intermittent fashion. But
it is only with Christianity that God takes leave of space ; his
kingdom is no longer of this world. The dissociation of nature
and t he divine Js_so c om plete that it .degenerates jnto antago-
nism. At the same time, the concept of divinity becomes mo re
general and more abstra c t, for it i s formed, not of sensations, as
originall y, but of i dea s. The God of humanity necessarily is
less concrete than the gods of the city or the clan.

Besides, at the same time as religion, the ru les of law become
universal, as well as those of morality.. Linked at first to local
circumstances, to particularities, ethnic, climatic, etc., they fr ee
th emselves little by little, and .with_the_same.. stroke. become
more general. What makes this increase of generality obvious
is the uninterrupted decline of formalism. In lower societies,
the very external form of conduct is predetermined even to the
details. The way in which man must eat, dress in every
situation, the gestures he must make, the formulae he must
pronounce, are precisely fixed. On the contrary, the further
one strays from the point of departure, the more moral and
juridical, prescriptions lose their sharpness and precision.
They rule only the most general fqnns of conduct, and rule
them in a . very general manner, sav ing what must be done, not
Imw it must be done. Now, all that is defined is expressed in a
definite form. If collective sentiments had the same determina-
tion as formerly, they would not be expressed in a less deter-
mined manner. If the concrete details of action and thought
were as uniform, they would be as obligatory.

It has often been remarked that civilization has a tendency
to become more rational and more logical. The cause is now
evident. That alone is rational which is universal. What
baffles understanding is the particular and the concrete. Only
the general is thought well of. ‘“'Consequently, the nearer the
common conscience is to particular things, the more it bears their

290 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

imprint, the more unintelligible it also is/ That is why primi-
tive civilizations affect us as they do. Being unable to subsume
them under logical principles, we succeed in seeing only bizarre
and fortuitous combinations of heterogeneous elements. In
reality, there is nothing artificial about them. It is necessary
only to seek their determining causes in sensations and move-
ments of sensibility, not in concepts. And if this is so, it is
because the social environment for which they are made is not
sufficiently extended. ^On the contrary, when civilization is
developed over a vaster field of action, when it is applied to
more people and things, general ideas necessarily appear and
become predominant there.'^ The idea of man, for example,
replaces in law, in morality, in religion, that of Roman, which,
being more concrete, is more refractory to science. ^Thus, it is
the increase of volume in societies and their greater condensa-
tion which explain this great transformation.-'

^But the more general the common conscience becomes, the
greater the place it leaves to individual variations. When God
is far from things and men, his action is no longer omnipresent,
nor ubiquitous/ There is nothing fixed save abstract rules
which can be freely applied in very different ways. Then they
no longer have the same ascendancy nor the same force of
resistance. Indeed, if practices and formulae, when they are
precise, determine thought and movements with a necessity
analogous to that of reflexes, these general principles, on the
contrary, can pass into facts only with the aid of intelligence.
But, once reflection is awakened, it is not easy to restrain it.
When it has taken hold, it develops spontaneously beyond the
limits assigned to it. One begins by putting articles of faith
beyond discussion; then discussion extends to them. One
wishes an explanation of them; one asks their reasons for
existing, and, as they submit to this search, they lose a part of
their force. For reflective ideas never have the same constrain-
ing force as instincts. It is thus that deliberated movements
have not the spontaneity of involuntary movements. Because
it becomes more rational/^he collective conscience becomes less

SECONDARY FACTORS 291

imperative, and for this very reason, it wields less restraint
over the free development of individual varieties.^

II

But this is not the greatest contributing cause in producing
this result.

What gives force to jcoUective states is not only that they
are common to the present generation, but especially that they
are, for the most part, a legacy of previous generations, -^'hc
common conscience is constituted very slowly and is modified
in the same way.-^ Time is necessary for a form of conduct or a
belief to arrive at that degree of generality and crystallization ;
time is also necessary for it to lose it. It is, then, almost
entirely a product of the past. But what comes from the
past is generally the object, of a very special respect. A practice
to which everybody conforms has, without doubt, a great
prestige, but if it is, in addition, strong because of the assent of
ancestors, it is still less liable to derogation. ''The authority of
the collective conscience is, then, in large part composed of the
authority of tradition. We shall see that the latter necessarily
diminishes as the segmental type is effaced.’^

.'Indeed, when the type is very pronounced, the segments form
very small societies more or less closed in.'^ Where they have a
familial base, it is as difficult to change from them as to change
families, and if, when they have only a territorial ba.se, the
barriers separating them are not as insurmountable, they never-
theless persist. In the middle ages, it was still difficult for a
workman to find work in a city other than his own.^ .'The
internal customs, moreover, formed an enclosure around each
social division protecting it from the infiltration of foreign ele-
ments.'^ Under these conditions, the individual is held to the
soil where he was born by ties attaching him to it, and because
he is repulsed elsewhere. /The rarity of means of communication
and transportation is a proof of this exclusion of each segment.-

^ Levasseur, op. a7., I, p. 239.

292 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

By repercussion, the causes maintaining man in his native
land fix him in his domestic life. In the beginning the two are
confounded and if, later, they are distinguished, one cannot
draw far away from the second when the first cannot be passed.
The force of attraction resulting from consanguinity exercises
its action with a maximum of intensity, since each remains
throughout life very near the source of this force. / It is, indeed,
a law without exception that the more the social structure is
by nature segmental, the more families form great, compact,
undivided masses, gathered up in themselves.*/

; On the other hand, in so far as the lines of demarcation sepa-
rating the different segments are obliterated, this equilibrium
is inevitably broken.' As individuals are no longer held together
in the places of their origin, and as these free spaces, opening
before them, attract them, they cannot fail to expand there.
Children no longer remain immutably attached to the land of
their parents, but leave to seek their fortune in all directions.
^Populations are mingled, and, because of this, their original
differences are lost.'' Statistics, unfortunately, do not permit
our following the march of these interior migrations in history,
but a fact sufficient to establish their growing importance is
the formation and development of cities. 'Cities, indeed, are
not formed by a sort of spontaneous growth, but by immigra-
tion.' Far from owing their existence and progress to the
normal preponderance of births over deaths, they present, from
this point of view, a general deficiency. It is, then, from with-
out that they receive the elements to which they owe their
daily increase. According to Dunant,® the annual increase in
the total population of thirty-one large cities of Europe owes
784.6 out of every thousand to immigration. In France, the
census of 1881 presented an increase of 766,000 over that of
1876; the departement of the Seine and the forty-five cities
having more than 30,000 inhabitants “absorbed more than

* The reader himself sees facts verifying this law whose express proof we can-
not present here. It results from researches we have made on the family, and
that we hope to publish soon.

* Cited by Layet, Hyoihne dea payaana, last chapter.

SECONDARY FACTORS

293

661.000 inhabitants of the quinquennial increase, leaving only

105.000 to be distributed among the average towns, the small
towns, and the country.” It is not only toward the great
cities that these great migratory movements tend ; they radiate
into neighboring regions. Bertillon has calculated that during
the year 1886, while on the average in France 11.25 out of 100
were bom outside the departement, in the departement of the
Seine there were 34.67. This proportion of strangers is so
much greater as departements of cities are more populous.
It is 31.47 in the Rhone, 26.29 in the Bouches-du-Rhone, 26.41 in
the Seine-et-Oise,^'^ 19.46 in the Nord, 17.62 in the Gironde}^
This phenomenon is not peculiar to great cities. It is equally
produced, although with less intensity, in small towns and
market-towns. “All these agglomerations increase constantly
at the expense of the smaller townships, so that one sees with
e4ch census the number of cities of each category increased by
some units.”

/But the greater mobility of social units which these phenomena ’
of migration suppose causes a weakening of all traditions/'

In fact, what especially gives force to tradition is the char-
acter of the persons who transmit it and inculcate it, the old
people. They are its living expression. They alone have
been witnesses of the acts of their ancestors. They are the
unique intermediary between the present and the past. More-
over, they enjoy a prestige with generations reared under their
eyes and their direction which nothing can replace. The child,
indeed, is aware of his inferiority before the older persons
surrounding him, and he feels he depends upon them. The
reverential respect he has for them is naturally communicated
to all that comes from them, to all they say, and all they do.
Thus, it is the authority of age which gives tradition its author-
ity. Consequently, all that can contribute to prolonging this
influence beyond infancy can only fortify traditional beliefs

Dumont, DipopulcUion et Civilisation, p. 175.

This increased number is an effect of the neighborhood of Paris.

Dictionnaire encydop. des Sciences medic,, art. MigrcUion
w Dumont, op, cit,, p. 178.

294 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

and practices. That is what happens when a man continues
to live in the environment where he was reared, for he then
remains in relation with people who have known him as a
child, and he submits to their action. The feeling he has for
them lasts, and, consequently, it produces the same effects,
that is to say, restrains the desire for innovation. To produce
novelties in social life, it is not sufficient for a new generation
to appear. It is still necessary for them not to be strongly
impelled towards following in the footsteps of their forefathers.
The more profound the influence of these latter — and it is as
much more profound as it lasts longer — the more obstacles
there are to change. Auguste Comte was right in saying that
if human life was increased tenfold, without the respective pro-
portion of ages being changed, there would result, "an inevitable
slowing up of our social development, although it would be
impossible to measure.”

But it is the reverse that is produced when man, while emerg-
ing from adolescence, is transplanted into a new environment.
To be sure, he finds there men older than himself as well, but
they are not the same as those he obeyed in his infancy. The
respect he has for them is then less, and by nature more con-
ventional, for it corresponds to no reality, present or past. He
does not depend upon and never has depended upon them;
he can then respect them only by analogy. It is, moreover,
a known fact that the worship of age is steadily weakening with
civilization. Though formerly developed, it is today reduced
to some few polite practices, inspired by a sort of pity. One
pities old men more than one fears them. Ages are leveled
off. All men who have reached maturity are treated almost
as equals. As a consequence of this, the ancestral customs
lose their predominance, for they no longer have authorized
representatives among adults. One is freer in contact with
them because one is freer with those who incarnate them. The
solidarity of time is less perceptible because it no longer has
its material expression in the continuous contact of successive
Coura de PhUoaophie poaiHve, IV, p. 451.

SECONDARY FACTORS

295

generations. To be sure, effects of primary education continue
to be felt, but with less force, because they are not held together.

The prime of youth, moreover, is the time when men are
most impatient with all restraint and most eager for change.
The life circulating in them has not yet had time to congeal,
or definitely to take determined forms, and it is too intense to
be disciplined without resistance. This need will, then, be
satisfied so much more easily as it is less restrained from with-
out, and it can be satisfied only at the expense of tradition.
The latter is most battered at the very moment when it loses
its strength. Once given, this germ of weakness can only be
developed with each generation, for one transmits with less
authority principles whose authority is felt less.

A characteristic example shows the influence of age on the
force of tradition.

^Precisely because the population of great cities is recruited
especially through immigration, it is essentially composed of
people who, on becoming adult, have left their homes and been
freed from the action of the old.'' Moreover, the number of old
men there is small, whereas that of men in the prime of life, on
the contrary, is very high. Cheysson has shown that the
curves of population at each age group, for Paris and for the
province, meet only at the ages of 15 to 20 and from 50 to 55.
Between 20 and 50, the Parisian curve is a great deal higher;
beyond that it is lower.*® In 1881, there were in Paris 1,118
individuals from 20 to 25 to 874 in the rest of the country.**
For the entire departemenl of the Seine, there is found in 1,000
inhabitants 731 from 15 to 60 and only 76 beyond that age,
whereas the province has 618 of the first and 106 of the second.
In Norway, according to Jacques Bertillon, the relations are
the following in 1,000 inhabitants :

Citie$ ^ Countrv

From 16 to 30 278 _ 239

From 30 to 45 206 183

From 45 to 60 110 120

From 60 and above 59 87

La Question de la population, in Annales d*HygUne, 1884.

Annales de la viUe de Paris,

296

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

^ Thus, it is in the great cities that the moderating influence
of age is at its minimum. At the same time, one observes that
nowhere have the traditions less sway over minds.-' Indeed,
great cities are the uncontested homes of progress ; it is in them
that ideas, fashions, customs, new needs are elaborated and
then spread over the rest of the country. When society changes,
it is generally after them and in imitation. Temperaments
are so mobile that everything that comes from the past is some-
what suspect. On the contrary, innovations, whatever they
may be, enjoy a prestige there almost equal to the one the
customs of ancestors formerly enjoyed. •'Minds naturally
are there oriented to the future. Consequently, life is there
transformed with extraordinary rapidity;*^ beliefs, tastes,
passions, are in perpetual evolution. No ground is more
favorable to evolutions of all sorts, ^hat is because the col-
lective life cannot have continuity there, where different
layers of social units, summoned to replace one another, are
discontinuous,--

Observing that during the youth of societies and especially
at the moment of their maturity the respect for traditions is
much greater than during old age, Tarde believed he could
present the decline of traditionalism as simply a transitory
phase, a passing crisis of all social evolution. “Man,” he says,
“escapes the chains of custom only to be captured again, that
is to say, to fix and consolidate, again falling a prey after his
temporary emancipation.” ” This error results, we believe,
from the method of comparison followed by the author, the
objections to which we have several times pointed out. Doubt-
less, if one compares the end of a society to the beginnings of
a succeeding one, a return to traditionalism can be seen. But
this phase in which every social type begins is always a great
deal less violent than it had been with the immediately anterior
t3rpe. With us, the customs of ancestors have never been the
object of the superstitious worship which was accorded to them
at Rome. Never was there at Rome an institution analogous
hoU de VimiMion, p. 271.

SECONDARY FACTORS

297

to the ypa<l») Trapavojuwv of the Athenian law, opposing all in-
novation.** Even at the time of Aristotle in Greece, it was
still a question of whether it was good to change established
laws in order to improve them, and the philosopher answers
in the affirmative only with the greatest circumspection.**
Finally, with the Jews all deviation from traditional rule was
still more completely impossible, since it was an impiety.
But, to judge the march of social events, one must not put,
end to end, the societies which succeed each other, but one
must compare them at the corresponding period of their life.
If, then, it is quite true that all social life tends to be fixed and
to become habitual, the form it takes always becomes less
resistant, more accessible to changes. In other words, the
authority of custom diminishes in a continuous manner. It is,
moreover, impossible for it to be otherwise, since this weakening
depends upon the very conditions which dominate historical
development.

Moreover, since common beliefs and practices, in large part,
extract their strength from the strength of tradition, it is
evident that they are less and less able to prevent the free
expansion of individual variations.

Finally, in so far as society is extended and concentrated, it
envelops the individual less, and, consequently, cannot as well
restrain the divergent tendencies coming up.-'

'* To assure ourselves of this it is sufficient to compare great
cities with small. In the latter, whoever seeks to free himself
from accepted customs meets with resistance which is some-
times very acute. ^ Every attempt at independence is an object
of public scandal, and the general reprobation attached is of
such a nature as to discourage all imitators. .00 the contrary,
in large cities, the individual is a great deal freer of collective

See concerning this ypa<t>ii Meier and Schoemann, Der cUtiache Process.

Aristotle, PolUics, II, 8, 1268b, 26.

298

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

bonds/ This fact of experience cannot be denied. It is because
we depend so much more closely on common opinion the more
it watches over conduct. When the attention of all is con-
stantly fixed on what each does, the least misstep is perceived
and immediately condemned. Inversely, each has as many
more facilities to follow his own path as he is better able to
escape this control. And, as the proverb has it, one is nowhere
better hidden than in a crowd. v’The greater the extension and
the greater the density of a group, the greater the dispersion
of collective attention over a wide area.'' Thus, it is incapable
of following the movements of each individual, for it does not
become stronger as they become more numerous. It has to
consider too many points at once to be able to concentrate
on any. The watch is less piercing because there are too many
people and too many things to watch.

Moreover, the great source of attention, that of interest, -is
more or less completely wanting. We wish to know the facts
about, and movements of a person only if his image awakens in
us memories and emotions which are linked to him, and this
desire is more acute as the states of conscience thus awakened
are more numerous and strong.® If, on the contrary, we look
upon someone from afar, having no interest in his concerns, we
are not aroused either to learn what happens to him or to observe
what he does. Collective curiosity is, then, keener as personal
relations between individuals are more continuous and more
frequent. Moreover, it is clear that they are proportionately
rarer and shorter as each individual is in contact with a greater
number of persons.

That is why the pressure of opinion is felt with less force
in great centres. It is because the attention of each is dis-
tracted in too many directions, and because, moreover, one is
known less. Even neighbors and members of the same family
are less often and less regularly in contact, separated as they

^ It is true that, in a small city, the stranger, the unknown, is no less the
object of curiosity than the inhabitant, but it is because of contrast, because
he is the exception. It is not the same in a great city, where it is the rule, as it
were, for everybody to be unknown.

SECONDARY FACTORS

299

are by the mass of affairs and intercurrent persons. Doubtless,
if population is more numerous than it is dense, it may be that
life, spread over a larger area, is less at each point. The great
city is resolved, then, into a certain number of little cities, and,
consequently, the preceding observations do not exactly apply.**^
But wherever the density of the agglomeration is related to the
volume, personal bonds are rare and weak. One more easily
loses others from sight ; in the same way one loses interest even
in those close by. As this mutual indifference results in loosing
collective surveillance, the sphere of free action of each indi-
vidual is extended in fact, and, little by little, the fact becomes
a right. We know, indeed, that the common conscience keeps
its strength only on condition of not tolerating contradictions.
But, by reason of this diminution of social control, acts are
committed daily which confute it, without, however, any
reaction. If, then, there are some repeated with frequency
and uniformity, they end by enervating the collective senti-
ment they shock. A rule no longer appears respectable when
it ceases to be respected, and that with impunity. One no
longer finds the same conviction in an article of faith too often
denied. Moreover, once we have availed ourselves of some
liberty, we feel the need for it. It becomes as necessary and
appears as sacred to us as others. We judge a control intoler-
able when we have lost the habit of complying. An acquired
right to greater autonomy is founded. It is thus that the
encroachments the individual personality makes, when it is
less strongly restrained from without, end by receiving the
consecration of custom.

But if this fact is more marked in great cities, it is not
special to them ; it is also produced in others according to their
importance. Since, then, the obliteration of the segmental
type entails a steadily increasing development of urban centres,
there is a primary reason for this phenomenon having to con-
tinue to become general. /But, moreover, in so far as the moral

^ This is a question to be studied. We believe we have noticed that in popu-
lous cities, which are not dense, collective opinion keeps its strength.

300

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

density of society is increased, it itself becomes similar to a
great city which contains an entire people within its walls.''
'^In effect, as material and moral distance between different
regions tend to vanish, they are, with relation to one another,
steadily more analogous to that of different quarters of the same
city.*^ The cause which in great cities determines a weakening
of the common conscience must then produce its effect through-
out society. So long as divers segments, keeping their individu-
ality, remain closed to one another, each of them narrowly
limits the social horizon of individuals. Separated from the
rest of society by barriers more or less difficult to clear, nothing
turns us from local life, and, therefore, all our action is con-
centrated there. But as the fusion of segments becomes more
complete, the vistas enlarge, and the more so as society itself
becomes more generally e.xtended at the same time. From
then on, even the inhabitant of a small city lives the life of the
little group immediately surrounding him less exclusively.
He joins in relations with distant localities which are more
numerous as the movement of concentration is more advanced.
His more frequent journeys, the more active correspondence
he exchanges, the affairs occup3dng him outside, etc., turn his
attention from what is passing around him. He no longer
finds the centre of his life and preoccupations so completely
in the place where he lives. He is then less interested in his
neighbors, since they take a smaller place in his life. Besides,
the small city has less hold upon him for the very reason that
his life is bursting that small shell, and his interests and affec-
tions are extending beyond it. For all these reasons, local
public opinion weighs less heavily on each of us, and as the
general opinion of society cannot replace its predecessor, not
being able to watch closely the conduct of all its citizens, the
collective surveillance is irretrievably loosened, the common
conscience loses its authority, individual variability grows.

/'In short, for social control to be rigorous and for the com-
mon conscience to be maintained, society must be divided
into rather small compartments completely enclosing the

SECONDARY FACTORS

301

individual. Both weaken as these divisions are done away
with.® ^

But, it will be said, the crimes and delicts to which organized
punishments are attached never leave the organs charged with
suppressing them indifferent. Whether the city be great or
small, whether society be dense or not, magistrates do not
leave the criminal or delinquent go unpunished. It would
seem, then, that the special weakening whose cause we have
just indicated must be localized in that part of the collective
conscience which determines only diffuse reactions, without
being able to extend beyond. But, in reality, this localization
is impossible, for these two regions are so strictly solidary that
one cannot be attacked without the other feeling it. The
acts which custom alone must repress are not different in
nature from those the law punishes ; they are only less serious.
If, then, there are some among them which lose their weight,
the corresponding graduation of the others is upset by the
same stroke. They sink one or several degrees, and appear less
revolting. When one is no longer at all sensible to small faults,
one is less sensible to great ones. When one no longer attaches
great importance to simple neglect of religious practices, one
is no longer as indignant about blasphemies or sacrileges.
When one is accustomed complacently to tolerate free love,
adultery is less scandalous. When the weakest sentiments
lose their energy, the strongest sentiments, even those which
are of the same sort and have the same objects, cannot keep
theirs intact. It is thus that, little by little, the movement is
communicated to the whole common conscience.

IV

ylt is now manifest how it happens that mechanical solidarity
is linked to the existence of the segmental type, as we have

** To this fundamental cause must be added the contagious influence of great
cities upon small, and of small upon the country. But this influence is only
secondary, and, besides, assumes importance only to the extent that social den-
sity grows.

302

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

shown in the preceding book. It is because this special struc-
ture allows society to enclose the individual more tightly,
holding him strongly attached to his domestic environment
and, consequently, to traditions, and finally contributing to the
Umitation of his social horizon, it also contributes ** to make it
concrete and defined.'^ Wholly mechanical causes, then, bring
it about that the individual is absorbed into the collective
personality, and they are causes of the same nature as those
which bring about the individual’s freedom. To be sure, this
emancipation is found to be useful, or, at least, it is utilized.
It makes the progress of the division of labor possible; more
generally, it gives more suppleness and elasticity to the social
oi^anism. But it is not because it is useful that it is produced.
It is because it cannot be otherwise. Experience with the
service it renders can only consolidate it once it exists.

One can, nevertheless, ask oneself if, in organized societies,
the organ does not play the same role as the segment ; if it is
not probable that the corporative and occupational mind
replaces the mind of the native village, and exercises the same
influence as it did. In this case they would not gain anything
by the change. Doubt is permitted to a great extent, as the
caste-mind has certainly had this effect, and the caste is a social
organ. We also know how the organization of bodies of trades
has, for a long time, hindered the development of individual
variations ; we have cited examples of this above.

It is certain that organized societies are not possible without
a developed system of rules which predetermine the functions
of each organ. In so far as labor is divided, there arises a
multitude of occupational moralities and laws.*^ But this
regulation, none the less, does not contract the sphere of action
of the individual.

In the first place, the occupational mind can only have

*• This third effect results only in part from the segmental nature. The prin-
cipal cause of it lies in the growth of social volume. It would still be asked why,
in general, density increases at the same time as volume. It is a question we
pose.

^ See above. Book I, oh. v, especially pp. 215 ff.

SECONDARY FACTORS

303

influence on occupational life. Beyond this sphere, the in-
dividual enjoys a greater liberty whose origin we have just
shown. True, the caste extends its action further, but it is
not an organ, properly speaking. It is a segment transformed
into an organ ; it has the nature of both. At the same time
as it is charged with special functions, it constitutes a distinct
society in the midst of the total aggregate. It is a society-
organ, analogous to those individual-organs observed in certain
organisms.®® That is what makes it enclose the individual in
a much more exclusive manner than ordinary corporations.

As these rules have their roots only in a small number of
consciences, and leave society in its entirety indifferent, they
have less authority by consequence of this lesser universality.
They offer, then, less resistance to changes. It is for this
reason that, in general, faults properly occupational have not
the same degree of gravity as others.

Moreover, the same causes which, in a general manner, lift
the collective yoke, produce their liberating effect in the interior
of the corporation as well as externally. / In so far as segmental
organs fu.se, each social organ becomes more voluminous, and
in proportion as the total volume of society grows at the same
time. Common practices of the occupational group thus
become more general and more abstract, as those which are
common to all society, and, accordingly, they leave more free
space for individual divergences.^ Indeed, the greater inde-
pendence enjoyed by new generations in comparison with the
older cannot fail to weaken traditionalism in the occupation.
This leaves the individual even more free to make innovations.

Thus, not only does occupational regulation, because of its
very nature, hinder less than any other the play of individual
variation, but it also tends to do so less and less.

** See above, p. 182.

*® See Perrier, Colonies animalea, p. 764.

CHAPTER FOUR

SECONDARY FACTORS (Continued)

Heredity

In the preceding pages, we reasoned as if the division of labor
depended only upon social causes. It is also linked with
organico-psychical conditions, however. The individual, at
birth, re ce i v es tastes and aptitudes predisposing him to certain
functions more than to others, and these predispositions cer-
tainly have an influence on the way in which tasks are dis-
tributed. According to the most common opinion, one would
have to see the first condition of the division of labor in this
diversity of natures. Its principal reason for existing would
be to classify individuals according to their capacities.* It is,
then, interesting to ascertain what precisely is the part of this
factor, the more so since it constitutes an additional obstacle
to individual variability, and, consequently, to the progress of
the division of labor.

As these native talents are transmitted to us by our ancestors,
they have to do, not with conditions in which the individual
actually finds himself, but those of his forefathers. They
chain us, then, to our race, as the collective conscience chains
us to our grpup and shackles the liberty of our movements.
As this part of us is entirely turned to the past, and toward a
past not personal to us, it removes us from our own sphere of
interests and the changes produced there. The greater its
development, the more it controls us. Race and individuality
are two contradictor for ces whic h vary inversely witlL.each
other. As long as we only continue to follow in the path of

> Mill, J. S., PolUieal Economy.

304

SECONDARY FACTORS

305

our ancestors, we tend to live as they have lived, and remain
adamant to all innovation. A human being who would receive
from heredity an important and heavy legacy would be almost
incapable of any change. Such is the case with animals, who
can progress only very slowly.

The obstacle that progress meets in this quarter is even more
difficult to surmount than that coming from a community of
beliefs and practices. For the latter are imposed upon the
individual only from without and by moral action, whereas
hereditary tendencies are congenital and have an anatomical
base. Thus,'^the greater the part of heredity in the distribution
of tasks, the more invariable the distribution, the more difficult,
consequently, the advances of the division of labor are,
even when they may be useful/ That is what happens in the
organism. The function of each cell is determined by its birth.
In a living animal, as Spencer says, progress in organization
implies not only that the units composing each of the differen-
tiated parts keep their places, but also that their descendants
succeed them in these places. Spencer adds that the hepatic
cells, while fulfilling their function, enlarge and bring forth
new hepatic cells to take their place when they are dissolved
and disappear; the cells coming from them do not surrender
to the kidneys, to the muscles, to the nervous centres to unite
in the accomplishment of their functions.** Moreover, the
changes produced in the organization of physiological work
are very rare, very restricted, and very slow.

But a great many facts tend to prove that, in the beginning,
heredity had a very considerable influence over the division of
social functions.

To be sure, among entirely primitive people, it has no im-
portance from this point of view. The several functions which
have begun to be specialized are elective, but that is because
they are not yet organized. The chief or chiefs are scarcely
distinguishable from the crowd they direct ; their power is as
restricted as it is ephemeral ; all members of the group are on

* Spencer, Principles of Sociology, III, p. 349.

306

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

a plane of equality. But as soon as the division of labor appears
in characteristic fashion, it is fixed into a form transmitted by
heredity. Thus castes grow up. India offers the most perfect
model of this organization oy work, but it is found elsewhere.
With the Jews, the only functions which were sharply separated
from others, sacerdotal functions, were strictly hereditary.
It was the same at Rome for all public functions, which implied
religious functions, which were the privilege of the patricians
alone. In Assyria, Persia, Egypt, society is divided in the same
manner. When castes tend to disappear, they are replaced
by classes, which, in order to keep their close exclusion and
privileges, rely on the same principle.

Assuredly, this institution is not a simple consequence of the
fact of hereditary transmissions. A great many causes have
contributed to bring it into being. But it would never have
been able either to generalize to such a point, or to persist for
so long a time, if, in general, it had not had the effect of putting
each in a place fitting to him. If the system of castes had
been contrary to individual aspirations and social interest, no
artifice could have maintained it. If, in the average case,
individuals were not really born for the function assigned them
by custom or law, this traditional classification of citizens would
have been quickly overthrown. The proof is that this over-
throw is effected as soon as discordance breaks out. The rigidity
of social forms, then, only explains the immutable manner in
which these talents are distributed, and this immutability itself
can be due only to the laws of heredity. • To be sure, education,
since it was carried on entirely in the midst of the family and
was prolonged late for reasons we have cited, strengthened the
influence, but it could not have alone produced such results.
For it acts usefully and efficaciously only if it is employed in
the same way as heredity. In short, this latter could become
a social institution only where it effectively played a social
role. In fact, we know that the ancients had a very acute
feeling for it. We do not find traces only in customs of which
we were speaking, and such like, but it is directly expressed in

SECONDARY FACTORS

307

more than one literary testimonial.® It is impossible, however,
that so general an error be a simple illusion and correspond to
nothing in reality. “All peoples,” says Ribot, “have faith,
perhaps only vague, in hereditary transmission. It would even
be possible to argue that this faith was stronger in primitive
times than in civilized epochs. It is from this natural faith
that heredity as an institution is born. It is certain that
reasons, social, politic, or even prejudices, have had to con-
tribute to its development and its strength, but it would be
absurd to believe that it was invented.” ^

Moreover , 4)Ccu pational hCTedity_ was very often the rule,
e ven w hen the law did not impose it.' Thus, medicine, with
the Greeks, was first cultivated by a small number of families.
“The asclepiads, or priests of Aesculapius, were said to be of
the posterity of this god. . . . Hippocrates was the seven-
teenth doctor in his family. The art of divination, the gift of
prophecy, that high favor of the gods, was considered by the
Greeks as being most often transmitted from father to son.” ®
“In Greece,” says Hermann, “heredity of function was enjoined
by law only in some states and for certain functions bound
narrowly to the religious life, as in Sparta, the cooks and flute
players, but the custom had also played a greater part in
artisans’ occupations than is ordinarily believed.” ® Even
now,*’in a great many lower societies, functions are distributed
according to race. In a great number of African tribes, the
blacksmiths descend from another race than the rest of the
populationf^ It was the same with the Jews in the time of Saul.
“In Abyssinia, almost all the workers are of alien race: the
mason is Jewish, the tanner and weaver are Mohammedans,
the armorer and goldsmith Greeks and Copts. In the Indies,
a great many differences of caste which indicate differences in

• Ribot, UH&riditit 2nd ed., p. 360.

^ /Wd., p. 345.

• Ibid.t op, ciL, p. 365. Cf. Hermann, Qriech, Antiq., IV, p. 353, note 3.

^ Ibid,, p. 395, note 2, ch. i, 33. — For the facts, see especially, Plato,
Euthyphro, IIC; Alcibiadea, 121A; Republic, IV, 421D; particularly Proto^oros,
328A ; Plutarch, Apophih, Lacon, 208B.

308 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

trade coincide, even today, with those in race. In all countries
of mixed population, the descendants of the same family are
accustomed to consecrate themselves to certain occupations.
It is thus that, in eastern Germany, fishers for centuries were
Slavs.” ’’ These facts give great weight to Lucas’ opinion
that “the heredity of occupations is the primitive type, the
elementary form of all institutions founded on the principle
of the heredity of moral nature.”

But it is well known how slow and difficult progress is in
these societies. For centuries, work remains organized in the
same manner without any thought of innovation. /“Heredity
is shown to us here with its habitual characteristics; con-
servation, stability.” *//Consequently, for the division of labor
to be able to develop, men had to succeed in shaking off
the yoke of heredity, progress had to break up castes and
classes.^ The progressive disappearance of these latter tends
to prove the reality of this emancipation, for we cannot see
how, if heredity had lost none of its claims over the individual,
it could have been weakened as an institution. If statistics
went back into the past, and particularly if they were better
informed on this point, they would very likely inform us that
cases of hereditary occupation become less numerous. What
is certain is that faith in heredity, formerly so intense, has
today been replaced by an almost opposed faith. We tend to
believe the individual is in large part the son of his work, and
even to scorn the bonds which attach him to his race and make
him depend upon it. This is, at least, a popular opinion of
which the psychologists of heredity complain. It is, indeed, a
rather curious fact that heredity entered into science only at
the time when it had almost completely emerged from the
belief in it. There is no contradiction here. For what the
common conscience basically affirms is not that heredity does
not exist, but that its weight is lighter, and science, we shall
see, does not contradict this sentiment.

’ Sohxnoller, La ditision du travail^ in Rev, econ, polU., 1889, p. 590.

• Ribot, op. cU., p. 360.

SECONDARY FACTORS

309

But it is important to establish the fact directly, and especially
to show its causes.

I

/In the first place, heredity loses its hold in the course of
evolution because new modes of activity are simultaneously
brought about which owe nothing to its influence.'

A first proof of the halt in heredity is the stationary position
of the great human races. From most distant times, no new
races have been formed, unless, with de Quatrefages,® we give
this name to the different types which have issued from the
three or four great fundamental types. It must be added that
the further they develop from their points of origin, the less do
they present the constitutive traits of the race. Indeed, every-
one agrees in recognizing that what characterizes a race is the
existence of hereditary likenesses. Thus, anthropologists take
as the basis of their classifications physical characteristics,
because they are the most hereditary of all. But the more
circumscribed anthropological types are, the more difficult it
becomes to define them as functions of exclusively organic
properties, because the latter are neither numerous enough nor
distinctive enough. There are completely moral resemblances
which are established with the aid of linguistics, archaeology,
comparative law, which become preponderant, but there is no
reason for admitting they are hereditary. They serve to dis-
tinguish civilizations rather than races. As we advance, the
human varieties which are formed become, then, less hereditary.
These varieties are less and less racial. The progressive
impotency of our species to produce new races makes a most
striking contrast with the fecundity of animal species. Can
any other meaning be found save that human culture, as it
develops, becomes steadily more resistant to this kind of trans-
mission? What men have added and each day add to this
primitive base which has for many centuries been fixed in the
structure of initital races increasingly escapes the action of

* See UEapbce humaine.

310 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

heredity. But if this is true of the general current of civilizar
tion, with stronger reason it is true of each of the particular
tributaries forming it, that is to say, of each functional activity
and its products.

The following facts confirm this induction :

It is an established truth that the degree of simplicity of
psychic facts gives the measure of their transmissibility. In
fact, the more complex states are, the more easily do they
decompose, since their great complexity keeps them in a state
of unstable equilibrium. They resemble those skilful con-
structions whose architecture is so delicate that a trifle is suflS.-
cient seriously to trouble their arrangement and, at the least
pressure, the shaken edifice crashes, laying bare the ground it
covered. It is thus that, in the case of general paralysis, the
ego is slowly dissolved until it rests, as it were, only upon the
organic base on which it was fixed. Ordinarily, it is under the
burden of sickness that these facts of disorganization are pro-
duced. But it is obvious that seminal transmission must have
analogous effects. Indeed, in the act of impregnation, the
strictly individual characteristics tend to be neutralized, for,
as those special to one of the parents can be transmitted only
to the detriment of the other, a sort of struggle from which
they cannot emerge intact grows up between them. But the
more complex a state of conscience is, the more personal it is,
the more does it carry the mark of the particular circumstances
in which we have lived, of our sex, of our temperament. We
resemble one another a great deal more in the lower and funda-
mental parts of our being than in these higher parts. It is by
these latter, on the contrary, that we are distinguished from
one another. If, then, they do not completely disappear in
hereditary transmission, they can survive only in an effaced
and weakened state.

But aptitudes are as much more complex as they are special.
It is, indeed, an error to believe that our activity is simplified
as our tasks are delimited. On the contrary, it is when it is
dispersed over a multitude of objects that it is simple, for, as

SECONDARY FACTORS

311

it then neglects what is personal and distinct to aspire to the
common, it is reduced to very general movements fitting into
a host of diverse circumstances. But when it is a question of
adapting ourselves to particular and special objects so as to
realize all their shadings, we can succeed only by combining a
great number of states of conscience, differentiated as the image
of the very things to which they are related. Once arranged
and set up, these systems no doubt function with more ease
and rapidity, but they remain very complex. What a pro-
digious assemblage of ideas, images, customs one observes as
the linotyper sets up a page of printing ; as the mathematician
combines a multitude of scattered theorems and sets up a new
theorem; as the doctor, by an imperceptible sign, at once
recognizes and at the same time foresees the course of a disease !
Compare the elementary technique of the ancient philosopher,
-of the sage, who, by the strength of his thought alone, under-
takes to explain the world, and that of today’s scholar who
resolves a very special problem only by a very complicated
combination of observations and experiments, thanks to the
reading of books written in all languages, correspondences,
discussion, etc. It is the dilettante who conserves his
original simplicity intact. The complexity of his nature is only
apparent. As he assigns himself the task of being interested
in everything, it seems that he has a multitude of diverse tastes
and aptitudes. A pure illusion ! Look to the bottom of things,
and you will see that it all reduces to a small number of general,
simple faculties, but which, having lost nothing of their early
indetermination, turn with ease from objects to which they
are attached to intend themselves upon others. From without
one perceives an uninterrupted succession of varied events, but
it is the same actor playing all the roles in somewhat different
costumes. This surface upon which so many skilfully shaded
colors shine covers a base of deplorable monotony. He has
trained and refined the powers of his being, but he has not
learned how to transform and recast them so as to extract
a new and defined work. He has reared nothing personal

312

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

and durable on the ground which nature has bequeathed
to him.

Consequently, '‘the more special faculties are, the more
difficult they are to transmit.'' Or, if they succeed in passing
from one generation to the other, they cannot fail to lose their
strength and precision. They are less irresistible and more
malleable. By reason of their greater indetermination, they
can more easily change under the influence of circumstances
of family, fortune, education, etc. In short, the more special-
ized the forms of activity,me more they escape the action of
heredity.*''

Cases have nevertheless been cited where occupational apti-
tudes appear to be hereditary. From tables arranged by
Galton, there seem to have been veritable dynasties of scholars,
poets, and musicians. De Candolle, on his part, has observed
that sons of scholars “often busy themselves with science.”'*
But these observations have no demonstrative value for the
case in point. We do not think of maintaining that the trans-
mission of special aptitudes is radically impossible. We
simply mean that generally it does not take place because it
can be effectuated only by a miracle of equilibrium which cannot
often recur. Hence, nothing is proved by citing this or that
particular case in which it was produced or appears to have
been produced, but we must see what part they represent in
the totality of scientific vocations. It is only then that one
can judge if they truly prove heredity to-be a great influence
in the way in which social functions are divided.

But, although this comparison cannot be made methodically,
a fact, established by de Candolle, tends to prove how restricted
the action of heredity is in these careers. Of 100 foreign asso-
ciates in the Academic de Paris whose genealogies de Candolle
has been able to trace, 14 descend from Protestant ministers,
only 5 from doctors, surgeons, chemists. Of 48 foreign members
of the Royal Society of London in 1829, 8 are sons of pastors,

Hiataire dea aciencea et dea aavanta, 2nd ed., p. 293.

SECONDARY FACTORS

313

only 4 have professional men as fathers. The total number of
the latter, however, “in countries outside of France must be
much greater for Protestant ecclesiastics. Indeed, among
Protestant populations, considered alone, doctors, surgeons,
chemists, and veterinarians are almost as numerous as church-
men and, when one adds those of purely Catholic countries
other than France, they constitute a much more considerable
total than that of pastors and Protestant ministers. The
studies that medical men have made and the works to which
they must habitually devote themselves for their profession
are much more in the realm of science than the studies and work
of a pastor. If success in science were solely a matter of
heredity, there would be a great many more sons of doctors,
chemists, etc. on our lists than sons of pastors.”

Still, it is not at all certain that these scientific vocations of
sons of scholars are really due to heredity. To be justified in
attributing them to it, it is not sufficient to observe a similarity
of tastes between parents and children. The latter would
have to manifest their aptitudes after being reared from infancy
outside their families and in a place foreign to all scientific
culture. But, in fact, all the sons of scholars who have been
observed have been reared in their families, where they have
naturally found more intellectual aid and encouragement than
their fathers had received. There are also words of advice,
and examples, the desire to resemble one’s father, to make use
of his books, his collections, his researches, his laboratory,
which are for a generous and circumspect mind energetic stimu-
lants. Finally, in the institutions where they pursue their
studies, the sons of scholars are found in contact with minds
cultivated and receptive to lofty culture, and the action of this
new environment only strengthens that of the first. To be
sure, in societies where it is the rule that the child follows the
profession of his father, such regularity cannot be explained
by a simple concourse of external circumstances, for it would
be a miracle if it was produced in each case with so perfect an

“ Op. cit., p. 294.

314

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

identity. But the case is not the same today with these coinci-
dences ; they are rare and very exceptional.

It is true that several of the English scientists addressed by
Galton ^ have insisted on a special and innate taste they have
felt since infancy for the science they were to cultivate later.
But, as de Candolle observes, it is quite difficult to know whether
these tastes “come from birth or acute impressions of youth
and influences provoking and directing them. Besides, tastes
change, and the only ones important for the career are those
which persist. In that case, the individual who distinguishes
himself in a science or who continues to cultivate it with pleasure
never fails to say that it is an innate taste with him. On the
contrary, those who have had special tastes in infancy and have
thought no more of them do not speak of them. Think of the
multitude of children who chase butterflies or make collections
of shells, of insects, etc. who do not become naturalists. I am
also familiar with a goodly number of examples of scholars who
had, in their youth, a passion for poetry or the drama and who,
in time, have taken up quite different occupations.”

Another observation of the same author shows how great the
action of social environment on the genesis of these attitudes
is. If they were due to heredity, they would be equally hered-
itary in all countries. The scholars bom of scholars would be in
the same proportion with all peoples of the same type. “ How-
ever, the facts give evidence of something entirely different.
In Switzerland, for two centuries there have been more scholars
grouped by family than isolated scholars. In France and Italy,
the number of scholars who are unique in their families con-
stitute, on the contrary, the immense majority. Physiological
laws are, however, the same for all men. Accordingly, educa-
tion in each family, the examples and counsel given, must have
exercised a more marked influence than heredity upon the
special career of the young scholars. It is, moreover, easy to
understand why this influence has been stronger in Switzerland
than in most countries. Studies are carried on until the age

EnglUh men of science, 1874, pp. 144 ff . Op. cit, p. 320.

SECONDARY FACTORS

315

of eighteen or twenty in each city and in such conditions that
the students live at their homes close to their fathers. It was
especially true in the eighteenth century and in the first half
of the nineteenth, particularly in Geneva and Basle; that is
to say, in the two cities which have furnished the greatest
proportion of scholars united by family bonds. Elsewhere,
notably in France and in Italy, it has always been ordinary
for young people to be reared in schools where they live and,
consequently, are removed from family influences.” *■*

There is, then, no reason for admitting “the existence of
innate and imperious vocations for special objects.” At
least, if there are, they are not the rule. As Bain similarly
remarks, the son of a great philologist does not inherit one
word ; the son of a great traveler can be surpassed in geography
in school by the son of a miner. That is not to say that
heredity is without influence, but that it transmits very general
faculties and not a particular aptitude for this or that science.-'
What a child receives from his parents is some power of atten-
tion, a capacity for perseverance, a wholesome judgment,
imagination, etc. But each of these faculties can be suitable
to a multitude of different specialties, and assure success in
each. Here is a child gifted with a lively imagination: at a
young age, he is put among artists ; he will become a painter
or a poet. If he lives in an industrial environment, he may
become an engineer with inventive genius. If chance places
him in the business world, he will perhaps be a fearless financier.
Of course, he will always have his own nature, his need of
creating and imagining, his passion for novelty, but the careers
in which he will be able to use these talents and satisfy his
inclinations are many. This is what de Candolle has proved
by direct observation. He has revealed the qualities useful
in the sciences his father inherited from his grandfather. Here
is the list : will, orderliness, sane judgment, a certain power of
attention, aversion for metaphysical abstractions, independence
of opinion. It was assuredly a good heritage, but one with
Op. dt., p, 296. Op. cit., p. 299. The Emotione and the Will.

316

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

which he could equally have become an administrator, a states-
man, an historian, an economist, a great manufacturer, an
excellent doctor, or, finally, a naturalist, like de Candolle. It
is, then, evident that circumstances played a large part in the
choice of his career, and that is, in fact, what his son tells us.‘^
Only the mathematical mind and musical feelings can be fairly
often hereditarily transmitted directly from parents. This
apparent anomaly will not be surprising if one recalls that these
two talents were developed very early in the history of humanity.
Music is the first of the arts and mathematics the first of the
sciences which man cultivated. These two faculties must,
then, be more general and less complex than is believed, and
that is what would explain their transmissibility.

One can say as much of another vocation, that of crime.
According to Tarde, the different varieties of crimes and
delicts are professions, although harmful. They sometime^
even require a complex technique. The swindler, the counter-
feiter, the forger, are obliged to use more science and more art
in their work than a great many ordinary workers. And it
has been maintained that not only moral perversion in general,
but even the specific forms of criminality, were a product of
heredity. It has even been believed that more than 40% are
“ criminal-born.” ** If this proposition were proved, we would
have to conclude that heredity sometimes has a great influence
on the way in which occupations, even special, are distributed.

To prove it, two different methods have been tried. Often,
they have been content to cite cases of families who are entirely
given to evil and that for several generations. But in this
manner one cannot determine the relative part of heredity in
the totality of criminal vocations. Such observations, as
numerous as they may be, do not constitute demonstrative
experiments. Because the son of a thief becomes a thief him-
self, it does not follow that his immorality is a heritage his
father left him. To interpret the fact that way, we would have
to be able to isolate the action of heredity from that of environ-
Op. dt,, p. 318. Lombroso, L' Homme criminelt p. 669.

SECONDARY FACTORS

317

ment, education, etc. If the child manifested his aptitude for
theft after having been reared in a perfectly healthy family,
one would then be able, with good right, to invoke the influence
of heredity, but we possess very few observations of this kind
that have been made methodically. One does not escape the
objection by observing that families thus involved in evil some-
times are very numerous. The number has nothing to do with
it, for the domestic environment, which is the same for all the
family, whatever its size, is sufficient to explain this endemic
criminality.

The method followed by Lombroso would be more conclusive
if it gave the results its author promised. Instead of enumerat-
ing a certain number of particular cases, he sets up, anatomically
and physiologically, the criminal type. As anatomical and
physiological characters, and especially the first, are congenital,
that is to say, determined by heredity, it will be sufficient to
establish the proportion of delinquents who present the type
thus defined, in order to measure exactly the influence of
heredity on this special activity.

It has been seen that, according to Lombroso, it would be
considerable. But the cited number expresses only the relative
frequency of the criminal type in general. All that one can
conclude, in consequence, is that the propensity toward evil
in general is often hereditary, but one can deduce nothing
relative to the particular forms of crime and delict. We know
today, moreover, that this pretended criminal type has, in
reality, nothing specific about it. A great many traits con-
stituting it are found elsewhere. All one sees is that it resem-
bles that of degenerates and neurasthenics.^* But, if this fact
is a proof that among criminals there are a great many neuras-
thenics, it does not follow that neurasthenia inevitably and
always leads to crime. There are at least as many degenerates
who are honest, if they are not men of talent and genius.

If aptitudes, then, are so much less transmissible as they
are more specialized, the part of heredity in the organization
See F^r^i D^g^rUrescence et CriminaliU,

318 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

of social work is so much greater as the latter is less divided.
In lower societies, where functions are very general, they
demand only aptitudes equally general which can most easily
and most integrally pass from one generation to the other.
Each receives at birth all that is essential to his character.
What he himself must acquire is a trifle compared to what he
gets from heredity. In the middle ages, the nobleman, to fulfill
his duty, had no need of a great deal of knowledge, or of very
complicated practices, but especially of courage, and he in-
herited that. The Levite and the Brahman, for their work,
had no need of a voluminous science — we can measure its
dimensions from the books containing it — but they had to
have a native superiority in intelligence which made them
susceptible to ideas and sentiments closed to the vulgar. To
be a good doctor in the time of Aesculapius, it was not necessary
to receive a wide culture; it was enough to have a natural
taste for observation and concrete things, and as this taste is
general enough to be easily transmissible, it inevitably was
perpetuated in certain families, and, consequently, the medical
profession was hereditary.

In these conditions, it is clear, heredity became a social
institution. To be sure, these wholly psychological causes
could not give rise to the organization of castes, but once the
latter was bom through other circumstances, it lasted because
it was found to conform perfectly both to the tastes of indi-
viduals and the interests of society. Since professional aptitude
was a quality of the race rather than the individual, it was
very natural that it be the same with the function. Since
functions were immutably distributed in the same manner, it
could have advantages only in so far as the law consecrated
the principle of this distribution. When the individual has
only a very small part in the formation of his mind and char-
acter, he cannot have any greater choice in his career, and if
greater liberty were permitted him, he generally would not
know what to do with it. Yet, what if the same general capac-
ity could serve in different occupations ! But precisely because

SECONDARY FACTORS

319

work is not specialized much, there exists only a small number
of functions sharply separated from one another. Conse-
quently, one could seldom succeed in more than one of them.
The margin left to individual combinations is, then, still re-
stricted on that side. Finally, the case of heredity of functions
is like that of heredity of goods. In lower societies, the heritage
transmitted by the forefathers, and which most often consists
of real estate, represents the most important part of the patri-
mony of each particular family. The individual, because of
the small importance economic functions then have, cannot
add much to the hereditary base. Thus, it is not he who
possesses, but the family, the collective being, composed not
only of all the members of the present generation, but of all
generations. That is w’hy patrimonial goods are inalienable.
None of the ephemeral representatives of domestic life can
dispose of them, for they do not belong to him. They are
to the family v/hat their function is to the house. Even when
law tempers its first restrictions, an alienation of patrimony is
still considered a forfeiture; it is for all classes of population
what a misalliance is to the aristocracy. It is a betrayal of the
race, a defection. Thus, while tolerating it, the law, for a long
time, puts all sorts of obstacles in its path. That is where the
law of reversion comes from.

It is not the same in more voluminous societies where work
is more specialized. As functions are more diversified, the
same faculty can serve in different professions. Courage is
as necessary to the miner, the aviator, the doctor, the engineer,
as to the soldier. Taste for observation can make a man
either a novelist, a dramatist, a chemist, a naturalist, a soci-
ologist. In short, the orientation of the individual is less
necessarily predetermined by heredity.

But what especially decreases the relative importance of
heredity is the fact that individual acquirements become more
considerable. To make the hereditary legacy valuable, a great
deal more must be added than formerly. In effect, in so far
as functions are more specialized, simply general aptitudes are

320 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY'

no longer enough. They must be submitted to active elabora-
tion, they must acquire a whole world of ideas, movements,
habits, they must co-ordinate them, systematize them, recast
their nature, give a new form and new face to it. Let us com-
pare — and we take rather related points of comparison — the
reasonable man of the seventeenth century with his open and
little-informed mind, and the modern scholar armed with all
the technique, all the necessary knowledge of the science he
cultivates; the nobleman of former times with his natural
courage and pride, and the officer today with his laborious and
complicated technique, and we can judge the importance and
variety of the combinations which have been slowly super-
imposed upon the primitive foundation.

But because they are very complex, these scholarly combina-
tions are fragile. They are in a state of unstable equilibrium
which cannot resist a strong shake-up. If they were identical
with both parents, they could perhaps survive the crisis of the
generation. But such identity is wholly exceptional. First
of all, they are special to each sex; then, as societies extend
and condense, cross-breedings are made over a larger area,
bringing together individuals of very different temperaments.
All this superb growth of states of conscience, then, dies with
us and we transmit to our descendants only an indeterminate
germ. It is then their duty to reproduce it anew, and, conse-
quently, they can more easily, if necessary, modify its develop-
ment. They are no longer so narrowly restricted to repeat
what their fathers did before them. To be sure, it would be
an error to believe that each generation begins the work of
centuries afresh and as a whole. That would make all progress
impossible. Because the past is not transmitted with blood,
it does not follow that it is reduced to nothing. It remains
fixed in monuments, in traditions of all sorts, in habits incul-
cated by education. But tradition is a considerably less rigid
bond than heredity. It predetermines thought and conduct
in a much less rigorous and precise manner. We have seen,
moreover, how it became more flexible as societies became

SECONDARY FACTORS

321

denser. A larger field is thus found open to individual varia-
tions, and it steadily enlarges as work is divided more.

In shortf civilization can be fixed in the organism only through
the most general foundations on which it rests. The more
elevated it is, the more, consequently, is it free of the body.
It becomes less and less an organic thing, more and more a
social thing.-'' But, then, it is no longer through the inter-
mediary of the body that it can perpetuate itself ; that is to
say, that heredity is more and more incapable of assuring its
continuity. Thus, it loses its hold, not because it has ceased
to be a law of our nature, but because, to live, we must have
means that it cannot provide us with. To be sure, we cannot
extract something from nothing, and the raw materials that it
alone gives us have prime importance, but those which are
added are no less important. The hereditary patrimony pre-
serves a great value, but it no longer represents any more than
a steadily restricted part of individual fortune. Under these
conditions, we have already explained why heredity has dis-
appeared from social institutions, and why people, no longer
seeing the hereditary foundation under the additions covering
it over, no longer feel its importance as much.

II

But, furthermore, there is room for believing that the heredi-
tary contribution diminishes, not only in relative value, but
in absolute value. Heredity becomes a lesser factor of human
development, not only because there is an ever greater multi-
tude of new acquisitions it cannot transmit, but also because
those it transmits disturb individual variations less. This is a
conjecture which the following facts render very likely.

One can measure the importance of the hereditary legacy for a
given species according to the number and strength of the in-
stincts. But it is, indeed, very remarkable that instinctive life
is weakened as one mounts in the animal scale. Instinct, indeed,
is a manner of defined action adjusted to a strictly determined
end. It impels the individual to acts which are invariably the

322

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

same when the necessary conditions are given. It is congealed
in its form. No doubt, one can make it deviate, but such
deviations, in order to be stable, require long development, and
have no other effect than the substitution of one instinct for
another, of one special mechanism for another of the same
nature. On the contrary, the more elevated the species to
which an animal belongs, the more discretionary instinct be-
comes. “It is no longer,” says Perrier, “the unconscious apti-
tude of combining indetermined acts ; it is the aptitude to act
differently according to the circumstances.” To say that the
influence of heredity is more general, more vague, less imperious,
is to say that it is smaller. It no longer imprisons the activity
of the animal in a rigid form, but leaves him with freer activity.
As Perrier says, “with the animal, at the same time that intel-
ligence grows, the conditions of heredity are profoundly modi-
fied.”

When from animals one passes to man, this regression is still
more marked. “Man does all that animals do and more ; only
he does it knowing what he does and why he docs it. The con-
sciousness of his acts alone seems to free him from all the
instincts which would necessarily impel him to accomplish
these same acts.” It would take too long to enumerate all
the movements which, instinctive with animals, have ceased to
be hereditary with man. Even where instinct survives, it has
less force, and the will can more easily subdue it.

But, then, there is no reason for supposing that this move-
ment of recoil, followed in an uninterrupted manner from the
inferior animal species to the most developed, and from those to
man, abruptly ceases at the advent of humanity. Was man,
from the day he came into history, totally freed from instinct?
But we still feel its yoke today. Have the causes determining
this progressive enfranchisement whose continuity we have just
seen, suddenly lost their energy ? But evidently they are merged

Anatomie et Phyaiologie animalea, p. 201. Cf. the preface of Intelligence dee
animaux, of Romanes, p. xxiii.

Guyau, Morale anglaUe, let ed., p. 330.

SECONDARY FACTORS

323

with the same causes determining the general progress of species,
and as it does not stop, they cannot themselves be stopped.
Such an hypothesis is contrary to all analogies. It is even con-
trary to well-established facts. It is indeed proved that intel-
ligence and instinct always vary in inverse ratio to each other.
We do not have to seek for the source of this relation at this
time; we are content to affirm its existence. But, from the
beginning, the intelligence of man has not stopp>ed developing.
Instinct has, then, had to follow a backward course. Conse-
quently, although one cannot establish this proposition by a
positive observation of the facts, one must believe that heredity
has lost ground in the course of human evolution.

Another fact corroborates the preceding. Not only has evo-
lution not caused new races to spring up since the beginning of
history, but, in addition, ancient races are always regressing.
In effect, a race is formed by a certain number of individuals
who present, in relation to the same hereditary type, a con-
formity sufficiently great for individual variations to be negli-
gible. But the importance of the latter is steadily increasing.
Individual types always assume more importance to the detri-
ment of the generic type whose constitutive traits, dispersed on
all sides, confused with a multitude of others, indefinitely
diversified, can no longer be easily reassembled in a whole which
has any unity. This dispersion and effacement have begun,
moreover, even with people little advanced. Because of their
isolation, the Eskimos seem placed in very favorable con-
ditions for the maintenance of the purity of their race. Never-
theless, “the variations of height surpass the permitted indi-
vidual limits there. ... In the passage of Hotham, an
Eskimo exactly resembled a negro ; in the inlet of Spafarret,
he resembled a Jew (Seeman). The oval face, associated with
a Roman nose, is not rare (King). Their complexion is some-
times very dark and sometimes very light.” “ If this is so in
such restricted societies, the same phenomenon must be much
more in evidence in our great contemporary societies. In

” Topinard, Anthropologies p. 458.

324

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

central Europe, one finds, side by side, all the possible varieties
of skulls, all possible forms of faces. It is the same with com-
plexion. According to observations made by Virchow, out of
ten million children taken in different classes of Germany, the
blond type, characteristic of the Germanic race, was found only
from 43 to 33 times out of a 100 in the North ; from 32 to 25
times in the Centre, and from 24 to 18 times in the South.**®
This explains why in these conditions, which are always be-
coming worse, the anthropologist can hardly set up strictly
defined types.

The recent researches of Gallon aflBrm, at the same time that
they enable us to explain, this weakening of hereditary infiu-
ence.“

According to this author, whose observations and calculations
appear irrefutable, the only characters transmitted regularly and
integrally by heredity in a given social group are those whose
reuniting sets up the average type. Thus, a son born of
exceptionally tall parents will not be of their height, but will
come close to a medium height. Inversely, if they are very
small, he will be taller than they. Galton has even been able to
measure, at least in proximate fashion, this relation of deviation.
If one agrees to call the average parent a composite being who
represents the average of the two real parents (the characters of
the woman are transposed in such a way as to be able to be com-
pared with those of the father, added and divided together), the
deviation of the son, in relation to the fixed standard, will be
two-thirds of that of the father.*®

Galton has not only established this law for height, but also
for the color of eyes and artistic faculties. It is true he has
made these observations only as to quantitative deviations, and
not as to qualitative deviations which individuals present in
relation to the average type. But one cannot see why the law
applies to one and not the other. If the rule is that heredity

** Wagner, Die KidturgOcMung dea Menachen, in Koamoa, 1886, Vol. I, p. 27.

** Natural Inheritance^ London, 1889.

Op. cit, p. 104.

SECONDARY FACTORS

325

transmits constitutive attributes of this type only to the degree
of development in which they are there found, it must also
transmit only attributes which are found there. What is true
of the abnormal extent of normal characters must be true, with
stronger reason, of abnormal characters themselves. They
must, in general, pass from one generation to another in a
weakened condition and on the verge of disappearance.

This lawi* moreover, is easily explained. Indeed, a child does
not inherit from his parents alone, but from all his ancestors.
Doubtless, the action of the first is particularly strong because
it is immediate, but that of anterior generations is susceptible of
accumulation when it is exercised in the same direction, and
thanks to this accumulation which makes up for the effects of
remoteness, it can attain a degree of force sufficient to neutralize
or attenuate the precedent. But the average type of a natural
ffroup is the one which corresponds to the conditions of average
life, consequently, to the most ordinary. It expresses the
manner in which individuals have adapted themselves to what
one may call the average environment, physical as well as social ;
that is to say, to the environment where the greatest number
live. These average conditions were most frequent in the past
for the same reason that they are most general at present.
They are, then, those in which the major part of our powers
are found situated. It is true that with time they have been
able to change, but they are generally modified slowly. The
average type remains, then, perceptibly the same for a long
time. Consequently, it is it which is repeated most often and
in most uniform manner in the series of anterior generations, at
least in those near enough to make us feel their action effica-
ciously. Thanks to this constancy, it acquires a fixity which
makes it the centre of gravity of the hereditary influence.
Characteristics constituting it are those which have the most
resistance, which tend to be transmitted with most force and
precision. Those, on the contrary, which are dispersed survive
only in a state of indetermination so much greater as the dis-
persion is more considerable. That is why the deviations pro-

326 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

duced are never more than short-lived, and succeed in being
maintained for a time only in very imperfect fashion.

Still, this explanation itself, in some respects a little different
from that proposed by Gal ton himself, allows one to conjecture
that his law, to be perfectly exact, would need some slight
rectifying. Indeed, the average tjrpe of our powers is merged
with that of our generation only to the extent that average life
has not changed. But, in fact, variations are produced from
one generation to the other which entail changes in the average
type. If the facts collected by Galton nevertheless seem to
confirm the law as he has formulated it, that is because he has
scarcely verified it save by physical characteristics relatively
immutable, as height or color of eyes. But if observation is
made, following the same method, of other properties, whether
organic, or psychical, it is certain one would see the effects of
evolution. Consequently, to speak rigorously, characteristics
whose degree of transmissibility is of the highest are not those
whose entirety constitutes the average type of a given generation,
but those obtained in taking the average between average types
of successive generations. Without this correction, further-
more, one cannot explain how the average of the group can
advance, for if one takes Galton’s proposition literally, societies
would always be invincibly led back to the same level, since the
average type of two generations, even distant from each other,
would be identical. But, far from this identity being the law,
on the contrary, even with physical characteristics as simple as
average height or the average color of eyes, there is seen a
gradual change, albeit slow.*® The truth is that, if enduring
changes are produced in the environment, the resulting organic
and psychical modifications end by being fixed and integrated in
the average evolving type. The variations produced on the way
cannot, then, have the same degree of transmissibility as the
elements repeated constantly.

The average tsrpe results from the superposition of individual
types, and expresses what they have most in common. Con-

** Arr6at, RScenU travatix sur VhtridiU, in Reo. phil,^ April 1890, p. 414.

SECONDARY FACTORS

327

sequently, the traits of which it is formed are as much more
defined as they are more identically repeated in the different
members of the group, for, when this identity is complete, they
are found again intact, with all their characteristics and in all
their details. On the other hand, when they vary from one
individual to the other, since the points on which they coincide
are rarer, what subsists in the average type is reduced to features
as general as the differences are greater. But we know that
individual differences steadily multiply, that is to say, the
constitutive elements of the average type are more diversified.
This type itself must, then, comprise fewer determined traits and
still less as society is more differentiated. The average man
assumes a physiognomy less and less precise and recognizable,
and more and more schematic. He is an abstraction more and
more difficult to fix and delimit. Further, the more elevated
the species to which societies belong, the more rapidly they
evolve, since tradition becomes more supple, as we have proved.
The average type changes, then, from one generation to the
other. Consequently, the doubly composed type which results
from the superposition of all these average types is still more
abstract than each of them, and becomes steadily more so.
Since, then, it is heredity of this type which constitutes normal
heredity, we see that, as Perrier says, the conditions of normal
heredity have been profoundly modified. To be sure, that does
not mean that it transmits fewer things in an absolute manner,
for if individuals present more unlike characteristics, they also
present more characteristics. But what it transmits consists
more and more of indeterminate predispositions, general ways of
feeling and thinking which can be specialized in a thousand
different ways. It is no longer, as it was formerly, a set of com-
plete mechanisms exactly set up for special ends, but of very
vague tendencies which do not definitely prejudge the future.
Heritage has not become less rich, but it no longer resides
entirely in transmittable goods. Most of the values of which
it is composed are not yet realized, and everything depends upon
the use to which they are put.

328 , DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

/ This greater flexibility of hereditary characteristics is not due
only to their state of indetermination, but to the shaking up
they have received because of the changes through which they
have passed/ We know, indeed, that a type is so much more
unstable as it has been subject to more deviations. “Some-
times,” says de Quatrefages, “the smallest causes rapidly trans-
form these organisms which have become unstable. The Swiss
bull, transported to Lombardy, becomes a Lombard bull in two
generations. Two generations are also sufficient for our bees of
Burgundy, small and brown, to become large and yellow in
Bresse.” For all these reasons,^heredity always leaves more
room for new combinations. Not only is there a growing num-
ber of things over which it has no power, but the properties
whose continuity it assures become more plastic. The indi-
vidual is, thus, less strongly chained to his past ; it is easier for
him to adapt himself to new circumstances which are produced",
and the progress of the divisioni of labor thus becomes easier and
more rapid.^x

Article Races in Dictionnaire encyclopidique des sciences mSdicaleSt Lxxx,
p. 372.

** What appears to be most solid in the theories of Weismann would serve to
confirm what precedes. Doubtless, it is not proved, as this scholar maintains,
that individual variations are radically intransmissible by heredity. But it
seems to have been well established that the normally transmissible type is
not the individual type, but the generic type which has, in some way, for organic
substratum the reproductive elements, and that this type is not as easily affected
by individual variations as has sometimes been supposed. (See Weismann,
Essais sur VMridiiS (tr. Fr.), Paris, 1892, especially the third essay ; and Ball,
H&r6diU et Exercice (tr. Fr.), Paris, 1891.) The result of this is that the more
undetermined and plastic this type is, the more the individual factor
gains ground.

From another point of view, these theories interest us. One of the conclu-
sions of our work to which we attach the most importance is this idea that social
phenomena derive from social causes, and not from psychological causes ; that
the collective type is not a simple generalization of an individual type, but, on
the contrary, that the latter is from the former. In another order of facts,

Weismann proves in the same way that the race is not a simple prolongation of
the individual ; that the specific type, from the physiological and anatomical
point of view, is not an individual type perpetuated in time, but that it has its
own evolution, that the second is detached from the first, far from being its source.
His doctrine is, like ours, it seems to us, a protest against the artless theories
which reduce the complex to the simple, the whole to the part, society or the
race to the individual.

CHAPTER FIVE

CONSEQUENCES OF THE PRECEDING

I

The preceding enables us to have a better understanding of the
manner in which the division of labor functions in society.

From this point of view/the division of social labor is dis-
tinguished from the division of physiological labor by an essen-
tial characteristic. In the organism, each cell has its defined
role, and cannot change it. In societies, tasks have never been
so immutably distributed. Even where the forms of organiza-
tion are most rigid, the individual can move about in the interior
of the form in which he is fixed with a certain liberty^ In primi-
tive Rome, the plebeian could freely undertake all the functions
not exclusively reserved to the patricians. Even in India, the
careers which were allowed to each caste had sufficient general-
ity ^ to permit some choice. In every land, if the enemy has
seized the capital, that is to say, the very brain of the nation,
social life is not suspended because of that, but, at the end of a
relatively short time, another city is found to fulfill this com-
plex function, although it had in no way been prepared for it.

As work is divided more, thi s s uppleness and liberty beco me
g reater . The same individual is seen to raise himself from the
most humble to the most important occupations. The prin-
ciple according to which all employments are equally accessible
to all citizens would not be generalized to this point if it did not
receive constant applications. What is still more frequent is
that a worker leaves his career for a neighboring one. When
scientific activity was not specialized, the scholar, encompassing
all science, could scarcely change his function, for it would have

* Lawt of Manou, I, 87-91.

329

330

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

been necessary vo renounce science itself. Today, it often hap-
pens that he devotes himself to different sciences, passing from
chemistry to biology, from physiology to psychology, from
psychology to sociology. This aptitude for successively taking
very diverse forms is nowhere so discernible as in the economic
world. As nothing is more variable than the tastes and needs
these functions answer to, commerce and industry must be held
in a perpetual state of unstable equilibrium to be able to yield
to all the changes produced in the demand. Whereas formerly
immobility was the almost natural state of capital, even the law
forbidding too easy mobilization, today it can scarcely be fol-
lowed in all its transformations, so great is the rapidity with
which it is engaged in enterprise, withdrawing from one to rest
elsewhere where it remains only for some moments. Thus,
workers must be ready to follow it, and, consequently, to serve
in different employments.

The nature of the causes upon which the division of labor in
society depends explains this character. If the role of each cell
is fixed in an immutable manner, it is because this is imposed by
birth. It is imprisoned in a system of hereditary customs
which mark its path, and which cannot be overcome. It cannot
even sensibly modify them, because these customs have too pro-
foundly affected the substance from which it is formed. Its
structure predetermines its life. We have just seen that it is
not the same in society. Origins do not determine the special
career of an individual; his congenital constitution does not
predestine him necessarily to one role alone, making him in-
capable for any other, but he receives from heredity only very
general dispositions, consequently very supple, and able to take
different forms.

It is true that he determines them himself by the use which he
makes of them. As he must employ his faculties in particular
functions and specialize them, he is forced to make those
immediately required for his use undergo very intensive cultiva-
tion, and let the others partially atrophy. Thus, he cannot
develop his brain beyond a certain point without losing a part

CONSEQUENCES OF THE PRECEDING 331

of his muscular force, or his reproductive power; he cannot
rouse his powers of analysis and reflection to a high pitch without
enfeebling the energy of his will and the vivacity of his senti-
ments, nor make a habit of observation without losing his
ability at dialectic. Moreover, by the very force of things, that
faculty which he makes keen to the detriment of others is forced
to assume definite forms in which it becomes imprisoned little
by little. This faculty gets into the habit of certain practices,
of functioning in a set way which becomes more difficult to
change as it continues to endure. But, as this specialization
results from purely individual efforts, it has neither the fixity
nor the rigidity which a long heredity alone can produce.
These practices are very supple, because they are very young.
As it is the individual who engaged himself in them, he can
disengage himself, and betake himself to new ones. He can call
forth faculties dulled through dormancy, infuse new life into
them, replace them in their original state, although, truly, this
kind of resurrection is by that time very difficult.

One is tempted, at first glance, to see in these facts of the
phenomena of regression either proof of a certain inferiority, or
at least a transitory state of an incomplete being in process of
formation. In effect, it is especially among lower animals that
the different parts of the aggregate can quite easily change their
functions and substitute them for others. But in so far as
organization becomes perfected, it becomes more and more
impossible for them to leave the role which is assigned to them.
One is thus led to ask whether society may not some day arrive
at a point where it will assume an arrested form, where each
organ, each individual, will have a definite function and will
no longer change. This was, it seems, Comte’s idea;* it is
certainly Spencer’s.® This induction, however, is precipitate,
for the phenomenon of substitution is not special to very simple
beings, but is equally observable in the highest ranks of the
hierarchy, and especially in the higher organs of the higher

* Couth de PhUoaophie positive^ VI, p, 505.

• PrzTwiples of Sociology, II, p. 57.

332 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

oi^anisms. Thus, “the consecutive disturbances in the abla-
tion of certain domains of the cerebral surface very often dis-
appear after a lapse of time. This phenomenon can only be
explained by the following supposition : other elements come in
to take over the function of the suppressed elements. This
implies that the substituted elements are employed at new
functions. ... An element which, during the normal relations
of conduction, causes a visual sensation, becomes, thanks to a
change of conditions, the cause of a tactile sensation, of a
muscular sensation, or of a motor innervation. Indeed, one is
almost obliged to suppose that, if the central network of nervous
cords has the power to transmit phenomena of diverse natures
to one and the same element, this element will be able to unite in
itself a plurality of different functions.” * Thus, the motor-
nerves can become centripetal, and the sensible nerves centrif-
ugal.® Finally, if a new partition of all these functions can
occur when the conditions of transmission are modified, there is
reason for presuming, according to Wundt, that “even in its
normal state, it presents oscillations or variations which depend
upon the variable development of individuals.” ®

/ Thus it is that a rigid specialization is not necessarily a mark
of superiority.' It is far from being a good thing in every circum-
stance ; often what the organ does not congeal in its role is of
advantage. Of course, where the environment itself is fixed,
even a very great fixity is useful. This is the case, for example,
with the nutritive functions of the individual organism. They
are not subject to great changes in the same organic tjrpe.
Consequently, there is an advantage rather than incon-
venience from their assuming a definitely stationary form.
That is why the polyp, whose internal and external tissue so
easily replace each other, is less well armed for the struggle than
more elevated animals with whom this substitution is always
incomplete and almost impossible. But it is quite otherwise

< Wundt, Physiological Psychology (tr. Fr.), I, p. 234.

* Notice the experiment of Ktihne and Paul Bert reported by Wundt, ibid,,
p. 233.

• /6id.. I, p. 239.

CONSEQUENCES OF THE PRECEDING 333

when the circumstances upon which the organ depends change
often. Then it must itself change or perish. That is what
happens with complex functions which adapt us to complex
milieux. The latter, because of their very complexity, are
essentially unstable. Some break in equilibrium, or some
innovation, is always being produced. To remain adapted, the
function must always be ready to change, to accommodate itself
to new situations. But, of all existing environments, there is
none more complex than the social. Thus,-^it is very natural
that the specialization of social functions is not as definitive as
that of biological functions, and, since this complexity increases
with a greater division of labor, this elasticity becomes ever
greater. No doubt, it is always enclosed in certain limits, but
they steadily recede.'''

What definitely attests to this relative and ever growing
flexibility is that the function is becoming more and more inde-
pendent of the organ. In effect, nothing realizes a function as
much as being tied to a structure that is highly defined, for, of
all arrangements, there is none more stable nor more opposed to
changes. Structure is not only a way of acting ; it is a way of
existing that necessitates a certain way of acting. It implies not
only a certain manner of vibrating, special to molecules, but an
arrangement of the latter which makes any other kind of vibra-
tions almost impossible. If, then, function gains greater supple-
ness, it is because it is less strictly related to the form of the
organ, because the tie between the two becomes looser.

We observe, in effect, that this loosening comes about in pro-
portion to the greater complexity of societies and their func-
tions. In lower societies, where tasks are general and simple,
the different classes charged with their execution are distin-
guished from one another by morphological characters. In
other words, each organ is anatomically distinguished from the
others. As each caste, each stratum of the population, has its
way of eating, dressing, etc., so these differences are accom-
panied by physical differences. As Spencer tells us, Fijian
chiefs are very tall, strongly built, and very muscular; the

334

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

people of lower class are emaciated from excessive work and
poor food. In the Sandwich Islands, Spencer continues, the
chiefs are large and vigorous, and their external appearance is
so different from the people of lower station that one might
think the latter were of a different race. We learn from Spencer
that Ellis, confirming Cook, says that the Tahitian chiefs are
almost without exception as far above the peasants in physical
force as they are in station and wealth, and that Erskine notices
an analogous difference among the natives of the Tonga Islands.^
In higher societies, on the contrary, these differences disappear.
Many facts tend to prove that men executing different social
functions are distinguished less than heretofore by the form of
their bodies, by their features, and their appearance. Some are
even offended because they do not have the traits of their call-
ing. If, according to Tarde, statistics and anthropometry were
used to determine the constitutive characters of various occu-
pational types with greater precision, we would probably find
that they differ less than in the past, particularly if we consider
the greater differentiation of functions.

A fact which confirms this assumption is that the custom of
occupational dress more and more falls into desuetude. In
effect, although modes of dress have assuredly served to make
functional differences clear, we cannot see in this role their only
reason for existing, since they disappear as social functions
become more differentiated. They must, then, correspond to
differences of another nature. If, moreover, before the institu-
tion of this practice, the men of different classes had not already
presented apparent somatic differences, we do not see why they
should have thought of distinguishing themselves in this
fashion. These external signs of conventional origin must
have been invented only in imitation of external signs of natural
origin. Dress, to us, does not signify anything other than the
occupational type which, in order to manifest itself in clothes,
marks them with its imprint, and differentiates them in its own
image. They are, as it were, a prolongation of it. This is

' Principlea of Soctology, III, p. 406.

CONSEQUENCES OF THE PRECEDING 335

particularly evident with the distinctions which play the same
role as dress and certainly derive from the same causes, such as
the custom of cutting the beard in a certain way, or of not having
a beard at all, or of having the hair cut short or left long, etc.
They are the very traits of the occupational type which, after
being produced and spontaneously constituted, reproduces itself
imitatively and artificially. The diversity of dress symbolizes,
then, above all, morphological differences. Consequently, if
differences in dress disappear, it is because morphological dif-
ferences are obliterated. If the members of different occupa-
tions no longer see the need of distinguishing themselves from
others by visible signs, it is because this distinction no longer
corresponds to anything in reality. Functional differences,
however, tend to become more numerous and more pronounced ;
this is because morphological types are leveling off. That
certainly does not mean that all brains are indifferently apt at
every function, but that their functional indifference, while
remaining limited, becomes greater.

But this enfranchisement of function, far from being a mark
of inferiority, only proves that it is becoming more complex.
For if it is more difficult for the constitutive elements of tissues
to arrange themselves in a certain way and incarnate it, and,
consequently, to keep it together and imprison it, that is because
it is made up of dispositions that are too subtle and delicate.
It may even be asked if, beginning with a certain degree of com-
plexity, it does not definitely escape them, if it does not end by
breaking away from the organ in such a way that it is impossible
for the latter to reabsorb it completely. That, in fact, it is
independent of the form of the substratum is a truth long ago
established by naturalists. When it is general and simple, how-
ever, it cannot long remain in this state of liberty because the
organ easily assimilates it, and, at the same time, shackles it.
But there is no reason for supposing that this power of assimila-
tion is indefinite. Everything points, on the contrary, to the
fact that, from a certain moment, the disproportion between the
simplicity of the molecular arrangements and the complexity of

336

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

functional arrangements becomes ever greater. The link be-
tween the second and the first loosens. Of course, it does not
follow that function can exist without any organ, nor even that
it can ever lack all relation with it. But the relation does be-
come less immediate.

Progress would then result in more and more detaching, with-
out ever separating, however, function from the organ, life
from matter; consequently, in spiritualizing it, in making it
more supple, more unrestrained, more complex. It is because
spiritualism believes that the character of higher forms of
existence is such that it always refuses to consider the psychic
life a simple consequence of the molecular constitution of the
brain. In fact, we know that the functional indifference of
different regions of the encephalos, if not absolute, is neverthe-
less great. Hence, cerebral functions are the last to assume an
immutable form. They remain plastic longer than the others,
and defend their plasticity the more complex they are. Thus,
their evolution is prolonged much later with the learned man
than with the uncultivated. If, then, social functions present
this same character in still more telling fashion, it is not in
accordance with an exception without precedent, but because
they correspond to a still more elevated stage in the develop-
ment of nature.

II

In determining the principal cause of the progress of the
division of labor, we have at the same time determined the
essential factor of what is called civihzation.

/Civilization is itself the necessary consequence of the changes
which are produced in the volume and in the density of societies.
/If science, art, and economic activity develop, it is in accordance
with a necessity which is imposed upon men.-' It is because
there is, for them, no other way of living in the new conditions
in which they have been placed. From the time that the num-
ber of individuals among whom social relations are estabUshed
begins to increase, they can maintain themselves only by greater

CONSEQUENCES OF THE PRECEDING 337

specialization, harder work, and intensification of their fa cul-
ties. '^j'rom this genia l stinmlation, there inevitably r esults a
much higher ^egrejB o f cult u re From this point of view,'1».i vili-
zation appears, not as an end which moves people by its attrac-
tion for'fHem,‘^ot as a good foreseen and desired in advance, of
which they seek to assure themselves the largest possible part,
'but as the effect of a cause, as the necessary resultant of a given
state/ It is not the pole towards which historic development is
moving and to which men seek to get nearer in order to be
happier or better, for neither happiness nor morality necessarily
increases with the intensity of life. They move because they
must move, and what determines the speed of this march is the
more or less strong pressure which they exercise upon one
another, according to their number.

/ This does not mean that civilization has no use, but that it is
hot the services that it renders that make it progress. It de-
velops because it cannot fail to develop/ Once effectuated,
this development is found to be generally useful, or, at least, it is
utilized. It responds to needs formed at the same time because
they depend upon the same causes. ^'But this is an adjustment
after the fact: Yet, we must notice that the good it renders in
this direction is not a positive enrichment, a growth in our stock
of happiness, but only repairs the losses that it has itself caused.
It is because this superactivity of general life fatigues and
weakens our nervous system that it needs reparations pro-
portionate to its expenditures, that is to say, more varied and
complex satisfactions. In that, we see even better how false it
is to make civilization the function of the division of labor ; it
is only a consequence of it. It can explain neither the existence
nor the progress of the division of labor, since it has, of itself, no
intrinsic or absolute value, but, on the contrary, has a reason for
existing only in so far as the division of labor is itself found
necessary.

We shall not be astonished by the importance attached to the
numerical factor if we notice the very capital role it plays in the
history of organisms. In effect, what defines a living being is

338

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

the double property it has of nourishing itself and reproducing
itself, and reproduction is itself only a consequence of nourish-
ment. Therefore, the intensity of organic life is proportional,
all things being equal, to the activity of nourishment, that is, to
the number of elements that the organism is capable of in-
corporating. Hence, what has not only made possible, but even
necessitated the appearance of complex organisms is that, under
certain conditions, the more simple organisms remain grouped
together in a way to form more voluminous aggregates. As the
constitutive parts of the animal are more numerous, their
relations are no longer the same, the conditions of social life are
changed, and it is these changes which, in turn, determine both
the division of labor, polymorphism, and the concentration of
vital forces and their greater energy. The growth of organic
substance is, then, the fact which dominates all zoological
development. It is not surprising that social development is
submitted to the same law.

Moreover, without recourse to arguments by analogy, it is
easy to explain the fundamental role-tof this factor. All social
life is made up of a system of facets which come from positive and
durable relations established between a plurality of individuals.
It is, thus, as much more intense as the reactions exchanged
between the component units are themselves more frequent and
more energetic. But, upon what does this frequency and this
energy depend ? Upon the nature of the elements present, upon
their more or less great vitality ? But we shall see in this very
chapter that individuals are much more a product of common
life than they are determinants of it.' If from each of them we
take away everything due to social action, the residue that we
obtain, besides being picasmne, is not capable of presenting
much variety. Without the diversity of social conditions upon
which they depend, the differences which separate them would
be inexplicable. /It is not, then, in the unequal aptitudes of men
that we must seek the cause for the unequal development of
societies^ Will it be in the unequal duration of these relations?
But time, by itself, produces nothing. It is only necessary in

CONSEQUENCES OF THE PRECEDING 339

bringing latent energies to light. There remains no other vari-
able factor than the number of individuals in relation and their
material and moral proximity, that is to say, the volume and
density of society. The more numerous they are and the more
they act upon one another, the more they react with force and
rapidity; consequently, the more intense social life becomes.
But it is this intensification which constitutes civilization.®

But, while being an effect of necessary causes, civilization
can become an end, an object of desire, in short, an ideal. In-
deed, at each moment of a society’s history, there is a certain
intensity of the collective life which is normal, given the number
and distribution of the social units. Assuredly, if everything
happens normally, this state will be realized of itself, but we
cannot bring it to pass that things will happen normally. If
health is in nature, so is sickness. Health is, indeed, in societies
as in individual organisms, only an ideal type which is nowhere
entirely realized. Each healthy individual has more or less
numerous traits of it, but there is none that unites them all.
Thus, it is an end worthy of pursuit to seek to bring society to
this degree of perfection.

Moreover, the direction to follow in order to attain this end
can be laid out. If, instead of letting causes engender their
effects by chance and according to the energy in them, thought
intervenes to direct the course, it can spare men many painful

* We do not here have to look to see if the fact which determines the progress
of the division of labor and civilization, growth in social mass and density, explains
itself automatically ; if it is a necessary product of efficient causes, or else an
imagined means in view of a desired end or of a very great foreseen good. We
content ourselves with stating this law of gravitation in the social world with-
out going any farther. It does not seem, however, that there is a greater demand
here than elsewhere for a teleological explanation. The walls which separate
different parts of society are torn down by the force of things, through a sort of
natural usury, whose effect can be further enforced by the action of violent
causes. The movements of population thus become more numerous and rapid
and the passage-lines through which these movements are effected — the means
of communication — deepen. They are more particularly active at points
where several of these lines cross ; these are cities. Thus social density grows.
As for the growth in volume, it is due to causes of the same kind. The barriers
which separate peoples are analogous to those which separate the different cells
of the same society and they disappear in the same way.

340

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

efforts. The development of the individual reproduces that of
the species in abridged fashion ; he does not pass through all
the stages that it passed through ; there are some he omits and
others he passes through more quickly because the experiences
of the race help him to accelerate them. But thought can
produce analogous results, for it is equally a utilization of
anterior experience, with a view to facilitating future experi-
ence. By thought, moreover, one must not understand exclu-
sively scientific knowledge of means and ends. Sociology, in
its present state, is hardly in a position to lead us efficaciously
to the solution of these practical problems. But beyond these
clear representations in the milieu in which the scholar moves,
there are obscure ones to which tendencies are linked. For
need to stimulate the w’ill, it is not necessary that it be clarified
by science. Obscure gropings are enough to teach men that
there is something lacking, to awaken their aspirations and at
the same time make them feel in what direction they ought to
bend their efforts.

Hence, a mechanistic conception of society does not preclude
ideals, and it is wrong to reproach it with reducing man to the
status of an inactive witness of his own history. What is an
ideal, really, if not an anticipated representation of a desired
result whose realization is possible only thanks to this very
anticipation ? Because things happen in accordance with laws,
it does not follow that we have nothing to do. We shall per-
haps find such an objective mean, because, in sum, it is only a
question of living in a state of health. But this is to forget that,
for the cultivated man, health consists in regularly satisfying
his most elevated needs as well as others, for the first are no less
firmly rooted in his nature than the second. It is true that such
an ideal is near, that the horizons it opens before us have noth-
ing unlimited about them. In any event, it cannot consist in
exalting the forces of society beyond measure, but only in devel-
oping them to the limit marked by the definite state of the social
milieu. All excess is bad as well as all insufficiency. But what
other ideal can we propose? To seek to realize a civilization

CONSEQUENCES OF THE PRECEDING 341

superior to that demanded by the nature of surrounding con-
ditions is to desire to turn illness loose in the very society of
which we are part, for it is not possible to increase collective
activity beyond the degree determined by the state of the social
organism without compromising health. In fact, in every epoch
there is a certain refinement of civilization whose sickly char-
acter is attested by the uneasiness and restlessness which
accompanies it. But there is never anything desirable about
sickness.

But if the ideal is always definite, it is never definitive.
Since progress is a consequence of changes in the social milieu,
there is no reason for supposing that it must ever end. For it to
have a limit, it would be necessary for the milieu to become
stationary at some given moment. But such an h 3 q>othesis is
contrary to the most legitimate inductions. As long as there are
distinct societies, the number of social units will necessarily be
variable in each of them. Even supposing that the number of
births ever becomes constant, there will always be movements
of population from one country to another, through violent
conquests or slow and unobtrusive infiltrations. Indeed, it is
impossible for the strongest peoples not to tend to incorporate
the feeblest, as the most dense overflow into the least dense.
That is a mechanical law of social equilibrium not less necessary
than that which governs the equilibrium of liquids. For it to
be otherwise, it would be necessary for all human societies to
have the same vital energy and the same density. What is
irrepresentable would only be so because of the diversity of
habitats.

It is true that this source of variations would be exhausted
if all humanity formed one and the same society. But, besides
our not knowing whether such an ideal is realizable, in order
for progress to cease it would still be necessary for the relations
between social units in the interior of this gigantic society to be
themselves recalcitrant to all change. It would be necessary
for them always to remain distributed in the same way, for not
only the total abrogate but also each of the elementary aggre-

342

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

gates of which it would be formed, to keep the same dimensions.
But such a uniformity is impossible, solely because these partial
groups do not all have the same extent nor the same vitality.
Population cannot be concentrated in the same way at all
points; it is inevitable that the greatest centres, those where
life is most intense, exercise an attraction for the others pro-
portionate to their importance. The migrations which are
thus produced result in further concentrating social units in
certain regions, and, consequently, in determining new ad-
vances there which irradiate little by little from the homes in
which they were bom into the rest of the country. Moreover,
these changes call forth others, without it being possible to say
where the repercussions stop. In fact, far from societies ap-
proaching a stationary position in proportion to their develop-
ment, they become, on the contrary, more mobile and more
plastic.

If, nevertheless, Spencer could claim that social evolution
has a limit which cannot be passed,® that is because, according
to him, progress has no other reason for existing than to adapt
the individual to the cosmic environment which surrounds him.
For this thinker, perfection consists in the growth of individual
life, that is, in a more complete correspondence between the
organism and its physical conditions. As for society, it is one of
the means by which this correspondence is established rather
than the object of a special correspondence. Because the
individual is not alone in the world, but is surrounded by rivals
who dispute over the means of existence, he has every interest
in establishing between himself and those like him relations
such that they will be of use to him rather than harm him. Thus
society was bom, and all social progress consists in ameliorating
these relations in such a way as to make them more completely
produce the effect in view of which they were established. Thus,
in spite of the biological analogies upon which he lays stress
Spencer does not see a reality sui generis in society, which exists
by itself and by virtue of specific and necessary causes, and

• First Prindplea, pp. 464 ff.

CONSEQUENCES OF THE PRECEDING 343

which, consequently, confound themselves with man’s own
nature, and to which he is held to adapt himself in order to
live, just as to his physical environment — but he sees it as an
arrangement instituted by individuals to extend individual life
in length and breadth.'" It consists entirely in co-operation,
whether positive or negative, and both have no other object
than the adapting of the individual to his physical environment.
Of course, society is in this sense a secondary condition of this
adaptation ; it can, in accordance with the way in which it is
organized, lead man to, or keep him from, a state of perfect
equilibrium, but it is not itself a contributory factor in the
determination of the nature of this equilibrium. Moreover, as
the cosmic environment is relatively constant, as changes in it
are infinitely few and far between, the development whose
object is to put us in harmony with it is necessarily limited.
It is inevitable that a moment will arrive when there will no
longer be any external relations to which some internal rela-
tions do not correspond. Then, social progress cannot fail to
halt, since it will have arrived at the goal for which it was headed
and which was its reason for existing. It will have been achieved.

But, under these conditions, the very progress of the indi-
vidual becomes inexplicable.

In short, why should he aim for this more perfect correspond-
ence with the physical environment? In order to be happier?
We have already disposed of this point. We cannot say of a
correspondence that it is more complete than another simply
because it is more complex. Indeed, we speak of an organism
being in equilibrium when it responds in an appropriate manner,
not to all external forces, but only to those which make an
impression upon it. If there are some which do not affect it,
it is as if they did not exist, and, accordingly, it does not have
to adapt itself to them. Whatever may be their material
proximity, they are outside its circle of adaptation because it is
outside the sphere of their action. If, then, the subject is of
a simple, homogeneous constitution, there will be only a small
See his work on ethics.

344 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

ntunber of external circumstances which will naturally arouse
it, and consequently it will respond to these stimuli, that is,
realize a state of irreproachable equilibrium with very little
effort. If, on the contrary, it is very complex, the conditions
of adaptation will be more numerous and more complicated,
but the adaptation itself will not be more complete on that
account. Because many stimuli which received no response
from the nervous system of men who came before us act upon
us, we are forced, in order to adjust ourselves, to a more con-
siderable development. But the product of this development,
that is, the adjustment which results from it, is not more per-
fect in one case than in the other. It is only different because
the organisms which are adjusted are themselves different.
The savage whose epidermis does not feel the variations in
temperature very much is as well adapted as the civilized man
who protects himself with clothes.

If, then, man does not depend upon a variable milieu, we do
not see what reason he would have had for varying. Hence,
'society is itself, not the secondary condition, but the determin-
ing factor in progress. It is a reality which is no more our
work than the external world, and to which, consequently, we
must submit in order to exist. It is because it changes that we
must change. •• For progress to halt, it would be necessary at
some moment for the social milieu to come to a stationary
position, and we have just shown that such an hypothesis is
contrary to all the precepts of science.

Thus, not only does a mechanistic theory of progress not
deprive us of an ideal, but it permits us to believe that we shall
never lack for one. Precisely because the ideal depends upon
the essentially mobile social milieu, it ceaselessly changes.
There is no reason for fearing that the world will ever fail us,
that our activity will come to an end and that our horizon will
be closed. But, although we never pursue any but definite,
limited ends, there is> and there will always be, between the
extreme points at which we arrive and the end towards which
we are tending, a free field open to our efforts.

CONSEQUENCES OF THE PRECEDING 346
III

'With societies, individuals are transformed in accordance
with the changes produced in the number of social units and
their relations.-'

/ First, they are made more and more free of the yoke of the
organism.'' An animal is almost completely under the influence
of his physical environment ; its biological constitution prede-
termines its existence. Man, on the contrary, is dependent
upon social causes. Of course, animals also form societies,
but, as they are very restricted, collective life is very simple.
They are also stationary because the equilibrium of such small
societies is necessarily stable. For these two reasons, it easily
fixes itself in the organism. It not only has its roots in the organ-
ism, but it is entirely enveloped in it to such a point that it loses
its own characteristics. It functions through a system of
instincts, of reflexes which are not essentially distinct from
those which assure the functioning of organic life. They present,
it is true, the particular characteristic of adapting the individ-
ual to the social environment, not to the physical environment,
and are caused by occurrences of the common life. They are
not of different nature, however, from those which, in certain
cases, determine without any previous education the necessary
movements in locomotion. It is quite otherwise with man,
because the societies he forms are much vaster. Even the
smallest we know of are more extensive than the majority of
animal societies. Being more complex, they also change more,
and these two causes together see to it that social life with
man is not congealed in a biological form. Even where it is
most simple, it clings to its specificity. There are always
beliefs and practices common to men which are not inscribed
in their tissues. But this character is more manifest as the
social mass and density grow. The more people there are in
association, and the more they react upon one another, the
more also does the product of these reactions pass beyond the
boimds of the oi^anism. Man thus finds himself placed under

346

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

the sway of causes sui generis whose relative part in the con-
stitution of human nature becomes ever more considerable.

Moreover, the influence of this factor increases not only in
relative value, but also in absolute value. The same cause
which increases the importance of the collective environment
weakens the organic environment in such a manner as to make
it accessible to the action of social causes and to subordinate it
to them. Because there are more individuals living together,
common life is richer and more varied, but for this variety to be
possible, the organic type must be less definite to be able to
diversify itself. We have seen, in effect, that' the tendencies
and aptitudes transmitted by heredity became ever more gen-
eral and more indeterminate, more refractory consequently,
to assuming the form of instincts.* Thus, a phenomenon is
produced which is exactly the inverse of that which we observe
at the beginning of evolution. AVith animals, the organism
assimilates social facts to it, and, stripping them of their special
nature, transforms them into biological facts. Social life is
materialized. In man, on the contrary, and particularly in
higher societies, social causes substitute themselves for organic
causes. The organism is spiritualized/

The individual is transformed in accordance with this change
in dependence. Since this activity which calls forth the special
action of social causes cannot be fixed in the organism, a new
life, also sui generis, is superimposed upon that of the body.
Freer, more complex, more independent of the organs which
support it, its distinguishing characteristics become ever more
apparent as it progresses and becomes solid. From this descrip-
tion we can recognize the essential traits of psychic life. To be
sure, it would be exaggerating to say that psychic life begins
only with societies, but certainly it becomes extensive only as
societies develop. / That is why, as has often been remarked,
the progress of conscience is in inverse ratio to that of instinct.'
'‘Whatever may be said of them, it is not the first which breaks
up the second.'" Instinct, the product of the accumulated ex-
perience of generations, has a much greater resistive force to

CONSEQUENCES OF THE PRECEDING 347

dissolution simply because it becomes conscious. Truly, con-
science only invades the ground which instinct has ceased to
occupy, or where instinct cannot be established. * Conscience
does not make instinct recede; it only fills the space instinct
leaves free.-' Moreover, if instinct regresses rather than extends
as general life extends, the greater importance of the social
factor is the cause of this. Hence, the great difference which
separates man from animals, that is, the greater development of
his psychic life, comes from his greater sociability. To under-
stand why psychic functions have been carried, from the very
beginnings of the human species, to a degree of perfection un-
known among animal species, one would first have to know
why it is that men, instead of living in solitude or in small
bands, were led to form more extensive societies. To put it in
terms of the classical definition, if man is a reasonable animal,
that is because he is a sociable animal, or at least infinitely
more sociable than other animals.*^

This is not all. In so far as societies do not reach certain
dimensions nor a certain degree of concentration, the only
psychic life which may be truly developed is that which is
common to all the members of the group, which is found identical
in each. But, as societies become more vast and, particularly,
more condensed, a psychic life of a new sort appears. Individ-
ual diversities, at first lost and confused amidst the mass of
social likenesses, become disengaged, become conspicuous, and
multiply. A multitude of things which use to remain outside
consciences because they did not affect the collective being
become objects of representations. Whereas individuals use
to act only by involving one another, except in cases where
their conduct was determined by physical needs, each of them
becomes a source of spontaneous activity. Particular personal-
ities become constituted, take conscience of themselves. More-
over, this growth of psychic life in the individual does not

The definition of de Quatrefages which makes man a religious animal is a
particular instance of the preceding, for man’s religiosity is a consequence of his
eminent sociability. See supra, pp. 168 ff.

348

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

obliterate the psychic life of society, but only transforms it.
It becomes freer, more extensive, and as it has, after all, no other
bases than individual consciences, these extend, become complex,
and thus become flexible.

Hence, the cause which called forth the differences separating
man from animals is also that which has forced him to elevate
himself above himself. The ever growing distance between the
savage and the civilized man has no other source. If the faculty
of ideation is slowly disengaged from the confused feeling of its
origin, if man has learned to formulate concepts and laws, if
his spirit has embraced more and more extensive portions of
space and time, if, not content with clinging to the past, he has
trespassed upon the future, if his emotions and his tendencies, at
first simple and not very numerous, have multiplied and diversi-
fied, that is because the social milieu has changed without
interruption. In effect, unless these transformations were bom
from nothing, they can have had for causes only the corre-
sponding transformations of surrounding milieux. But, man
depends only upon three sorts of milieux; the organism, the
external world, society. If one leaves aside the accidental
variations due to combinations of heredity, — and their role
in human progress is certainly not very considerable, — the
organism is not automatically modified ; it is necessary that
it be impelled by some external cause. As for the physical
world, since the beginning of history it has remained sensibly
the same, at least if one does not take account of novelties
which are of social origin.'* Consequently, there is only society
which has changed enough to be able to explain the parallel
changes in individual nature.

It is not, then, audacious to affirm that, from now on, what-
ever progress is made in psycho-physiology will never represent
more than a fraction of psychology, since the major part of
psychic phenomena does not come from organic causes. This
is what spiritualist philosophers have learned, and the great

** Transformations of the soil, of streams, through the art of husbandry, engi-
neers, etc.

CONSEQUENCES OF THE PRECEDING 349

service that they have rendered science has been to combat the
doctrines which reduce psychic life merely to an efflorescence
of physical life. They have very justly felt that the first, in its
highest manifestations, is much too free and complex to be
merely a prolongation of the second. Because it is partly inde-
pendent of the organism, however, it does not follow that it
depends upon no natural cause, and that it must be put outside
nature. But all these facts whose explanation we cannot find in
the constitution of tissues derive from properties of the social
milieu. This hypothesis assumes, at least, very great proba-
bility from what has preceded. But the social realm is not less
natural than the organic realm. Consequently, because there
is a vast region of conscience whose genesis is unintelligible
through psycho-physiology alone, we must not conclude that it
has been formed of itself and that it is, accordingly, refractory
.to scientific investigation, but only that it derives from some
other positive science which can be called socio-psychology.
The phenomena which would constitute its matter are, in effect,
of a mixed nature. They have the same essential characters
as other psychic facts, but they arise from social causes.

^ It is not necessary, then, with'Spencer, to present social life as
a simple resultant of individual natures, since, on the contrary,
it is rather the latter which come from the former. Social facts
are not the simple development of psychic facts, but the second
are in large part only the prolongation of the first in the interior
of consciences.'^ This proposition is very important, for the
contrary point of view exposes the sociologist, at every moment,
to mistaking the cause for the effect, and conversely. For
example, if, as often happens, we see in the organization of the
family the logically necessary expression of human sentiments
inherent in every conscience, we are reversing the true order of
facts. On the contrary, it is the social organization of the
relations of kinship which has determined the respective senti-
ments of parents and children. They would have been com-
pletely different if the social structure had been different, and
the proof of this is, in effect, that paternal love is unknown in

350

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

a great many societies.** One could cite many other examples
of the same error.*^ / Of course, it is a self-evident truth that
there is nothing in social life which is not in individual con-
sciences. Everything that is found in the latter, however,
comes from society/ The major part of our states of con-
science would not have been produced among isolated beings
and would have been produced quite otherwise among beings
grouped in some other manner. They come, then, not from
the psychological nature of man in general, but from the manner
in which men once associated mutually affect one another,
according as they are more or less numerous, more or less close.
Products of group life, it is the nature of the group which alone
can explain them. Of course, they would not be possible if
individual constitutions did not lend themselves to such action,
but individual constitutions are only remote conditions, not
determinate causes. Spencer in one place ** compares the
work of the sociologist to the calculation of a mathematician
who, from the form of a certain number of balls, deduces the
manner in which they must be combined in order to keep them
in equilibrium. The comparison is inexact and does not apply
to social facts. Here, instead, it is rather the form of all which
determines that of the parts. i Society does not find the bases
on which it rests fully laid out in consciences; it puts them
there itself.*5'

This is the case in societies where the matriarchal family rules.

To cite only one example of this, — religion has been explained by the move-
ments of individual feeling, whereas these movements are only the prolongation
in the individual of social states which give birth to religion. We have devel-
oped this point further in an article in the RSvue PhUosophique^ Etudes de science
soctcUe, June, 1886. Cf. Annie Sociologique, Vol. II, pp. 1-28.

Study of Sociology, ch, i.

This is a sufficient reply, we believe, to those who think they prove that
everything in social life is individual because society is made up only of indi-
viduals. Of course, society has no other substratum, but because individuals
form society, new phenomena which are formed by association are produced, and
react upon individual consciences and in large part form them. That is why,
although society may be nothing without individuals, each of them is much more
a product of society than he is its maker.

BOOK THREE
ABNORMAL FORMS

CHAPTER ONE

THE ANOMIC DIVISION OF LABOR

Up to now, we have studied the division of labor only as a
normal phenomenon, but, like all social facts, and, more gen-
erally, all biological facts, it presents pathological forms which
must be analyzed. Jl’hough normally the division of labor
produces social solidarity, it sometimes happens that it has
different, and even contrary results.^ Now, it is important to
find out what makes it deviate from its natural course, for if
we do not prove that these cases are exceptional, the division
of labor might be accused of logically implying them. More-
over^ the study of these devious forms will permit us to deter-
mine the ^condition s of existen ce of the normal state better.'*
When we know the circumstances in which the division of labor
ceases to bring forth solidarity, we shall better understand
what is necessary for it to have that effect. Pathology, here as
elsewhere, is a valuable aid of physiology.

One might be tempted to reckon as irregular forms of thei
division of labor criminal occupations and other harmful activ-
ities. They are the very negation of solidarity, and yet they
take the form of special activities. But to speak with exacti-
tude, there is no division of labor here, but differentiation pure
and simple. The two terms must not be confused. Thus,
cancer and tuberculosis increase the diversity of organic tissues
without bringing forth a new specialization of biologic functions.^
In all these cases, there is no partition of a common function,
but, in the midst of the organism, whether individual or social,

^ This is a distinction that Spencer does not make. It seems that, for him,
the two terms are synonymous. The differentiation, however, which disinte-
grates (cancerous, microbic, criminal) is very different from that which brings
vital forces together (division of labor).

353

364 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

another is formed which seeks to live at the expense of the first.
In reality, there is not even a function, for a way of acting merits
this name only if it joins with others in maintaining general
life. This question, then, does not enter into the body of our
investigation.

We shall reduce to three types the exceptional forms of the
phenomenon that we are studying. This is not because there
nan be no others, but rather because those of which we are
going to speak are the most general and the most serious.

I

' /The first case of this kind is furnished us by industrial ow
commercial crises, by failures, which are so many partial breaks
in organic solidarity.'" They evince, in effect, that at certain
points in the organism certain social functions are not sudj
justed to one another. But, in so far as labor is divided more,
these phenomena seem to become more frequent, at least in
certain cases. From 1845 to 1869, failures increased 70 %.®
We cannot, however, attribute this fact to the growth in eco-
nomic life, since enterprises have become a great deal more con-
centrated than numerous.

/The conflict between capital and labor is another example, |
more striking, of the same phenomenon. In so far as industrial
functions become more specialized, the conflict becomes more
lively, instead of solidarity increasing.' In the middle ages, the
worker everywhere lived at the side of his master, pursuing his
tasks “in the same shop, in the same. establishment.” * Both
were part of the same corporation and led the same existence.
“They were on an almost equal footing ; whoever had served
his apprenticeship could, at least in many of the occupations,
set himself up independently if he had the means.” * Hence,
conflicts were wholly unusual. Beginning with the fifteenth
century things began to change. “The occupational circle is
no longer a common organization ; it is an exclusive possession

* Block, Statistique de la France.

* Levasseur, Lea daasea ouvrUrea en France Juaqu*d la RivoliUion, II, p. 315.

♦JWd.. I. p. 496.

THE ANOMIC DIVISION OF LABOR

355

of the masters, who alone decided all matters. . . . From that
time, a sharp lin'e is drawn between masters and workers. The
latter formed, so to speak, an order apart; they had their
customs, their rules, their independent associations.” * Once
this separation was effected, quarrels became numerous.
“When the workers thought they had a just complaint, they
struck or boycotted a village, an employer, and all of them were
compelled to obey the letter of the order. . . . The power of
association gave the workers the means of combating their
employers with equal force.” * But things were then far from
reaching “the point at which we now see them. Workers
rebelled in order to secure higher wages or some other change in
the condition of labor, but they did not consider the employer
as a permanent enemy whom one obeyed because of his force.
They wished to make him concede a point, and they worked
ebergetically towards that end, but the conflict was not ever-
lasting. The workshops did not contain two opposing classes.
Our socialist doctrines were unknown.” ^ Finally, in the
seventeenth century, the third phase of this history of the
working classes begins : the birth of large-scale industry. The
worker is more completely separated from the employer. “He
becomes somewhat regimented. Each has his function, and
the system of the division of labor makes some progress. In
the factory of Van-Robais, which employed 1692 workers,
there were particular shops for wheelwrighting, for cutlery,
for washing, for dyeing, for warping, and the shops for weaving
themselves contained several types of workers whose labor was
entirely distinct.” * ' At the same time that specialization be-
comes greater, revolts become more frequent. “The small-
est cause for discontent was enough to upset an establishment,
and cause a worker unhappiness who did not respect the de-
cision of the community.” * We well know that, since then,
the warfare has become ever more violent.*

» Levasseur, I, p. 496. • Ibid., I, p. 604.

^ Hubert Valleroux, Lea Corporations d'arta et de metiers, p. 49.
• Levasseur, II, p. 316. • Ibid., p. 319.

356

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

vTo be sure, we shall see in the following chapter that this
tension in social relations is due, in part, to the fact that the
working classes are not really satisfied with the conditions
under which they live, but very often accept them only as con-
strained and forced, since they have not the means to change
them.' This constraint alone, however, would not account for
the phenomenon. In effect, it does not weigh less heavily upon
all those generally bereft of fortune, and yet this state of per-
manent hostility is wholly special to the industrial world.
Then, in the interior of this world, it is the same for all workers
indiscriminately. But, small-scale industry, where work is
less divided, displays a relative harmony between worker and
employer.*® «It is only in large-scale industry that these re-
lations are in a sickly state. That is because they depend in
part upon a different cause. ^

Another illustration of the same phenomenon has often beeh
observed in the history of sciences. /Until very recent times,
science, not being very divided, could be cultivated almost
entirely by one and the same person.' Thus was had a very
lively sense of its unity. The particular truths which com-
posed it were neither so numerous nor so heterogeneous that
one could not easily see the tie which bound them in one and
the same system. Methods, being themselves very general,
were little different from one another, and one could perceive
the common trunk from which they imperceptibly diverged.
But, as specialization is introduced into scientific work, each
scholar becomes more and more enclosed, not only in a particular
science, but in a special order of problems. Auguste Comte had
already complained that, in his time, there were in the scientific
world “very few minds embracing in their conception the total
scope of even a single science, which is, however, in turn, only a
part of a greater whole. The greater part were already occupied
with some isolated consideration of a more or less extensive
section of one certain science, without being very much con-
cerned with the relation of the particular labors to the general

“ See Cauwee, Prida d'teonomU politigue, II, p. 39.

THE ANOMIC DIVISION OF LABOR

357

system of positive knowledge.” “ ^But then, science, parcelled
out into a multitude of detailed studies which are not joined
together, no longer forms a solidary whole." What best mani-
fests, perhaps, this absence of concert and unity is the theory,
so prevalent, that* each particular science has an absolute value,
and that the scholar ought to devote himself to his special re-
searches without bothering to inquire whether they serve some
purpose and lead anywhere. '' “This division of intellectual
labor,” says Schaeffle, “offers good reason for fearing that this
return to a new Alexandrianism will lead once again to the ruin
of all science.” “

II

/•What makes these facts serious is that they have sometimes
been considered a necessary effect of the division of labor after
it has passed beyond a certain stage of development.' In this
case, it is said, the individual, hemmed in by his task, becomes
isolated in a special activity. He no longer feels the idea of a
common work being done by those who work side by side with
him. Thus, the division of labor could not be pushed farther
without becoming a source of disintegration. “Since all such
decomposition,” says Auguste Comte, “necessarily has the
tendency to determine a corresponding dispersion, the funda-
mental partition of human labors cannot avoid evoking, in a
proportionate degree, individual divergences, both intellectual
and moral, whose combined influence must, in the same measure,
demand a permanent discipline able to prevent or unceasingly
contain their discordant flight. If, on the one hand, indeed,
the separation of social functions permits a felicitous develop-
ment of the spirit of detail otherwise impossible, it spontaneously
tends, on the other hand, to snuff out the spirit of togetherness
or, at least, to undermine it profoundly. Likewise, from the
moral point of view, at the same time that each is thus placed
in strict dependence upon the mass, he is naturally deterred by

Coura de pkUoaophie positive, I, p- 27.

Bau und Leben des sozicUen K&rpers, TV, p. 113.

358

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

the peculiar scope of his special activity which constantly links
him to his own private interest whose true relation with the
public interest he perceives but very vaguely. . . . / Thus it is
that the same principle which has alone permitted the develop-
ment and the extension of general society threatens, in a differ-
ent aspect, to decompose it into a multitude of incoherent cor-
porations which almost seem not to be of the same species.” “
Espinas has expressed himself almost in the same terms:
“Division,” he says, “is dispersion.” “

The division of labor would thus exercise, because of its very
nature, a dissolving influence which would be particularly ob-
vious where functions are very specialized. Comte, however,
does not conclude from his principle that societies must be led
to what he himself calls the age of generality, that is, to that
state of indistinctness and homogeneity which was their point
of departure. The diversity of functions is useful and neces-
sary, but as unity, which is no less indispensable, does not
spontaneously spring up, the care of realizing it and of main-
taining it would constitute a special function in the social
oi^anism, represented by an independent organ. This organ is
the State or government. “The social destiny of govern-
ment,” says Comte, “appears to me to consist particularly in
sufficiently containing, and preventing, as far as possible, this
fatal disposition towards a fundamental dispersion of ideas,
sentiments, and interests, the inevitable result of the very
principle of human development, and which, if it could follow
its natural course without interruption, would inevitably end by
arresting social progress in all important respects. This con-
ception, in my eyes, constitutes the first positive and rational
basis of an elementary and abstract theory of government prop-
erly so called, seen in its noblest and greatest scientific extension,
as characterized in general by a univen^l and necessary reaction,
at first spontaneous and then regulated, of the totality of the
parts that go to make it up. It is clear, in effect, that the only
real means of preventing such a dispersion consists in this indis-

Coura^ IV, p. 429. SodiUa animalea, conclusion, IV.

THE ANOMIC DIVISION OF LABOR

359

pensable reaction in a new and special function, susceptible of
fittingly intervening in the habitual accomplishment of all the
diverse functions of social economy, so as to recall to them
unceasingly the feeling of wiity and the sentiment of common
solidarity.”

,.What government is to society in its totality philosophy ought
to be to the sciences. Since the diversity of science tends to
disrupt the unity of science, a new science must be set up to
re-establish it. ^ Since detailed studies make us lose sight of the
whole vista of human knowledge, we must institute a particular
system of researches to retrieve it and set it off. In other words,
” we must make an even greater specialty of the study of scien-
tific generalities. A new class of scholars, prepared by suitable
education, without devoting themselves to a special culture of
any particular branch of natural philosophy, will busy them-
selves with considering the various positive sciences in their
present state, with exactly determining the spirit of each of
them, with discovering their relations and their continuity,
with summing up, if possible, all their principles in a very small
number of principles common to all, and the division of labor in
the sciences will be pushed, without any danger, as far as the
development of the various orders of knowledge demand.”

Of course, we have ourselves shown that the governmental
organ develops with the division of labor, not as a repercussion
of it, but because of mechanical necessity. As organs are
rigorously solidary where functions are very divided, what
affects one affects the others, and social events take on a more
general interest. At the same time, with the effacement of the
segmental type, they penetrate more easily throughout the
extent of the same tissue or the same system. For these two
reasons, there are more of them which are retained in the
directive organ whose functional activity, more often exercised,

i» Coura de Philoaophie positive, IV, pp. 430-431.

This bringing together of government and philosophy ought not to surprise
us, for, in Comte’s eyes, the two institutions are inseparable. Government, as
he conceives it, is possible only upon the institution of the positive philosophy.

See a1x>ve, Book I, ch. vii, § 3.

360

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

grows with the volume. But its sphere of action does not
extend further.

But beneath this general, superficial life there is an intestine,
a world of organs which, without being completely independent
of the first, nevertheless function without its intervention,
without its even being conscious of them, at least normally.
They are freed from its action because it is too remote for them.
The government cannot, at every instant, regulate the condi-
tions of the different economic markets, fixing the prices of their
commodities and services, or keeping production within the
bounds of consumptionary needs, etc. All these practical
problems arise from a multitude of detail, coming from thou-
sands of particular circumstances which only those very close
to the problems know about. Thus, we cannot adjust these
functions to one another and make them concur harmoniously
if they do not concur of themselves. If, then, the division of
labor has the dispersive effects that are attributed to it, they
ought to develop without resistance in this region of society,
since there is nothing to hold them together. What gives unity
to organized societies, however, as to all organisms, is the spon-
taneous consensus of parts. Such is the internal solidarity
which not only is as indispensable as the regulative action of
higher centres, but which also is their necessary condition, for
they do no more than translate it into another language and, so
to speak, consecrate it. Thus, the brain does not make the
unity of the organism, but expresses and completes it. Some
speak of the necessity of a reaction of the totality of parts, but
it still is necessary for this totality to exist ; that is to say, the
parts must be already solidary with one another for the whole
to take conscience of itself and react in this way. Else, as
work is divided, one would see a sort of progressive decomposi-
tion produced, not only at certain points, but throughout
society, instead of the ever stronger concentration that we
really observe.

But, it is said, there is no need for going into detail. It is
sufficient to call to mind whenever necessary “the spirit of

THE ANOMIC DIVISION OF LABOR

361

the whole and the sentiment of common solidarity,” and this
action the government alone can execute. This is true, but it
is much too general to assure the concourse of social functions,
if that has not been realized by itself. In effect, what is the
point at issue? Is it to make each individual feel that he is
not self-sufficient, but is a part of a whole on which he depends?
But such an abstract, vague, and, withal, intermittent represen-
tation, just as all complex representations, can avail nothing
against lively, concrete impressions which occupational activity
at every instant evokes in each one of us. If, then, occupational
activity has the effects that are adduced, if the occupations
which fill our daily life tend to detach us from the social group
to which we belong, such a conception, which is quite dormant
and never occupies more than a small part of the field of con-
science, will not be sufficient to hold us to it. In order that the
sentiment of our state of dependence be effective, it would be
necessary for it also to be continuous, and it can be that only
if it is linked to the very practice of each special function. But
then specialization would no longer have the consequences
which it is said to produce. Or else governmental action would
have as its object the maintenance of a certain moral uniformity
among occupations, the preventing of “social affections grad-
ually concentrated in individuals of the same occupation from
becoming more and more foreign to other classes, for want of
sufficient likeness in customs and thoughts.” But this
uniformity cannot be maintained by force and against the
nature of things. 'Functional diversity induces a moral diver-
sity that nothing can prevent, and it is inevitable that one should
grow as the other does. We know, moreover, why these two
phenomena develop in parallel fashion. Collective sentiments
become more and more impotent in holding together the cen-
trifugal tendencies that the division of labor is said to engender,
for these tendencies increase as labor is more divided, and, at
the same time, collective sentiments are weakened.

For the same reason, philosophy becomes more and more

^Court de Philotophie positive, IV, p. 42.

362

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

incapable of assuring the unity of science. As long as the
same mind could, at once, cultivate different sciences, it was
possible to acquire the competency necessary for their unifica-
tion. But, as they become specialized, these grand syntheses
can no longer be anything more than premature generalizations,
for it becomes more and more impossible for one human intelli-
gence to gain a sufficiently exact knowledge of this great mul-
titude of phenomena, of laws, of hypotheses which must be
summed up. “It would be interesting to speculate,” Ribot
justly says, “what philosophy, as the general conception of
the universe, will be when particular sciences, because of their
growing complexity, become overwhelming in their detail and
philosophers are reduced to knowledge of the most general
results, which are necessarily superficial.”

To be sure, there is some reason for judging as excessive this
pride of the scholar, who, hemmed in by his special researches,
refuses to recognize any other control. It is certain, however,
that to gain an exact idea of a science one must practice it, and,
so to speak, live with it. That is because it does not entirely
consist of some propositions which have been definitively
proved. Along side of this actual, realized science, there is
another, concrete and living, which is in part ignorant of itself,
and yet seeks itself ; besides acquired results, there are hopes,
habits, instincts, needs, presentiments so obscure that they
cannot be expressed in words, yet so powerful that they some-
times dominate the whole life of the scholar. All this is still
science ; it is even its best and largest part, for the discovered
truths are a little thing in comparison with those which remain
to be discovered. Moreover, in order to possess a good idea
of the first and understand what is found condensed therein,
one must have been close to scientific life while it was still in a
free state ; that is to say, before it became fixed in the form of
definite propositions. Otherwise, one will have the letter, but
not the spirit. Each science has, so to speak, a soul which lives
in the conscience of scholars. Only a part of this soul assumes

Paychologie allemande, Introduction, p. xxvii.

THE ANOMIC DIVISION OF LABOR

363

sensible bodily form. The formulas which express it, being
general, are easily transmitted. But such is not the case with
this other part of science which no symbol translates without.
Here, all is personal and must be acquired through personal
experience. To take part in it, one must put oneself to work and
place oneself before the facts. According to Comte, to assure
the unity of science, it would be enough to have methods re-
duced to unity ; but it is just the methods which are most
difficult to unify, for, as they are immanent in the very sciences,
as it is impossible to disengage them completely from the body
of established truths in order to codify them separately, we can
know them only if we have ourselves practiced them. But it
is now impossible for the same man to practice a large number
of sciences. These grand generalizations can rest only on a
very summary view of things. If, moreover, we remember how
slowly and with what patient precautions scholars ordinarily
proceed in the discovery of even their most particular truths,
we see that improvised disciplines no longer have anything
more than a very feeble authority over them.

But, whatever may be the value of these philosophic generali-
ties, science would not find therein the unity it needs. They
well express what there is in common among the sciences, —
laws, specific method, — but, besides these resemblances, there
are differences which have to be integrated. We often say that
the general holds in its power particulars that it sums up, but
the expression is not exact. It contains only what is common
to them. Now, there are no two phenomena in the world which
resemble each other, simple as they may be. That is why
every general proposition lets a part of the material it tries to
master escape. It is impossible to establish the concrete char-
acters and distinctive properties of things in the same imper-
sonal and homogeneous formula. But, as long as resemblances
exceed differences, they are sufficient to integrate the repre-
sentations thus brought together. The dissonances of detail
disappear in the total harmony. On the contrary, as the

Op. ct<., I, p. 46.

364

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

differences become more numerous, cohesion becomes more
[unstable and must be consolidated by other means. If we
picture the growing multiplicity of special sciences, with their
theorems, their laws, their axioms, their conjectures, their
methods of procedure, we shall see that a short and simple for-
mula, as the principle of evolution, for example, is not enough to
integrate such a prodigious complexity of phenomena. Even
when these total views exactly correspond to reality, the part
they explain is too small a thing beside what they leave unex-
plained. It is not, then, by this means that we shall ever be
able to take the positive sciences out of their isolation. There
is too great a chasm between detailed researches which are their
backbone and such syntheses. The tie which binds these two
orders of knowledge together is too slight and too loose, and,
consequently,'^if particular sciences can take cognizance of their
mutual dependence only through a philosophy which embraces
all of them, the sentiment of unity they will have will always
be too vague to be efficacious.''

'Philosophy is the collective conscience of science, and, here
as elsewhere, the role of the collective conscience becomes smaller
as labor is divided. '

III

Although Comte recognized that the division of labor is a
source of solidarity, it seems that he did not perceive that this
solidarity is sui generis and is little by little substituted for that
which social likenesses give rise to. That is why, in remarking
that the latter were very much obliterated where functions
are very specialized, he considered this obliteration a morbid
phenomenon, a menace to social cohesion due to the excess of
specialization, and by that he explained the facts of lack of
co-ordination which sometimes accompany the development of
the division of labor. But /since we have shown that the
enfeeblement of the collective conscience is a normal phenome-
non, we cannot consider it as the cause of the abnormal phe-
nomena that we are studying. /'If, in certain cases, organic

THE ANOMIC DIVISION OF LABOR

365

1 solidarity is not all it should be, it is certainly not because me-
I chanical solidarity has lost ground, but because all the conditions
■ for the existence of organic solidarity have not been realized/
We know, in effect, that, wherever organic solidarity is found,
we come upon an adequately developed regulation determining
the mutual relations of functions.-* 2JFor organic solidarity to
exist, it is not enough that there be a system of organs necessary
to one another, which in a general way feel solidary, but it is
also necessary that the way in which they should come together,
if not in every kind of meeting, at least in circumstances which
most frequently occur, be predetermined.-^ Otherwise, at
every moment new conflicts would have to be equilibrated, for
the conditions of equilibrium can be discovered only through
gropings in the course of which one part treats the other as an
adversary as much as an auxiliary. These conflicts would
incessantly crop out anew, and, consequently, solidarity would
be scarcely more than potential, if mutual obligations had to be
fought over entirely anew in each particular instance. It will
be said that there are contracts. But, first of ail, all social
relations are not capable of assuming this juridical form. We
know, moreover, that a contract is not self-sufficient, but
supposes a regulation which is as extensive and complicated as
contractual life itself. Besides, the links which have this
origin are always of short duration. A contract is only a truce,
and very precarious; it suspends hostilities only for a time.
Of course, as precise as this regulation may be, it will always
leave a place for many disturbances. ''But it is neither neces-
sary nor even possible for social life to be without conflicts.
The role of solidarity is not to suppress competition, but to
moderate it. •

Moreover, in the normal state, these rules disengage them-
selves from the division of labor. They are a prolongation of
it. Assuredly, if it only brought together individuals who
united for some few moments to exchange personal services,
it could not give rise to any regulative action. But what it
See Book I, ch. vii.

366

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

brings face to face are functions, that is to say, ways of definite
action, which are identically repeated in given circumstances,
since they cling to general, constant conditions of social life.
The relations which are formed among these functions cannot
fail to partake of the same degree of fixity and regularity.
There are certain ways of mutual reaction which, finding them-
selves very conformable to the nature of things, are repeated
very often and become habits. Then these habits, becoming
forceful, are transformed into rules of conduct. The past
determines the future. In other words, there is a certain sort-
ing of rights and duties which is established by usage and be-
comes obligatory. The rule does not, then, create the state of
mutual dependence in which solidary organs find themselves,
but only expresses in clear-cut fashion the result of a given
situation. In the same way, the nervous system, far from
dominating the evolution of the organism, as we have already
said, results from it.” The nerve-cords are probably only the
lines of passage which the streams of movements and excitations
exchanged between different organs have followed. They are
the canals which life has hewed for itself while steadily flowing
in the same direction, and the ganglia would only be the place
of intersection of several of these lines.” Because they mis-
understood this aspect of the phenomena, certain moralists
have claimed that the division of labor does not produce true
solidarity. They have seen in it only particular exchanges,
ephemeral combinations, without past or future, in which the
individual is thrown on his own resources. They have not
perceived the slow work of consolidation, the network of links
which little by little have been woven and which makes some-
thing permanent of organic solidarity.

'But, in@)the cases that we have described above, this regu-
lation either does not exist, or is not in accord with the degree
of development of the division of labor. Today, there are no
longer any rules which fix the number of economic enterprises,

•* Perrier, Colonies animdles, p. 746.

** See Spencer, PrindpUe of Biology, II, pp. 438 ff .

THE ANOMIC DIVISION OF LABOR

367

and, in each branch of industry, production is not exactly
regulated on a level with consumption. ' We do not wish to
draw any practical conclusion from this fact ; we are not con-
tending that restrictive legislation is necessary ; we do not here
have to weigh its advantages and disadvantages. What is
certain is that this lack of regulation does not permit a regular
harmony of functions. The economists claim, it is true, that
this harmony is self-established when necessary, thanks to rises
or declines in prices which, according to needs, stimulate or
slacken production. But, in every case, this is established only
after ruptures of equilibrium and more or less prolonged dis-
turbances. Moreover, these disturbances are naturally as
much more frequent as functions are more specialized, for the
more complex an organization is, the more is the need of exten-
sive regulation felt.

The relations of capital and labor have, up to the present,
remained in the same state of juridical indetermination. A con-
tract for the hire of services occupies a very small place in our
Codes, particularly when one thinks of the diversity and com-
plexity of the relations which it is called upon to regulate.
But it is not necessary to insist upon a gap whose presence is
keenly felt by all, and which everybody seeks to fill.“

Methodological rules are for science what rules of law and
custom are for conduct ; they direct the thought of the scholar
just as the others govern the actions of men. But if each
science has its method, the order that it realizes is wholly internal.
It co-ordinates the findings of scholars who cultivate the same
science, not their relations with the outside world. There are
hardly any disciplines which bring together the work of the
different sciences in the light of a common end. This is par-
ticularly true of the moral and social sciences, for the sciences
of mathematics, physics, chemistry, and even biology, do not
seem to be strangers to one another in this respect. But the

** This was written in 1893. Since then, industrial legislation has taken a
more important place in our law. This is proof of how serious the gap was, and
that there was need of its being filled.

368

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

jurist, the psychologist, the anthropologist, the economist,
the statistician, the linguist, the historian, proceed with their
investigations as if the different orders of fact they study con-
stituted so many independent worlds. In reality, however,
they penetrate one another from all sides; consequently, the
case must be the same with their corresponding sciences. This
is where the anarchical state of science in general comes from,
a state that has been noted not without exaggeration, but
which is particularly true of these specific sciences. They offer
the spectacle of an aggregate of disjointed parts which do not
concur. If they form a whole without unity, this is not because
they do not have a sentiment of their likenesses ; it is because
they are not organized.

These different examples are, then, varieties of the same
species. Af the division of labor does not produce solidarity in
all these cases, it is because the relations of the organs are not
regulated, because they are in a state of anomy.

j'But whence comes this state?-'

* Since a body of rules is the definite form which spontane-
ously established relations between social functions take in the
course of time, we can say, a priori, that the state of anomy
is impossible wherever solidary organs are sufficiently in con-
tact or sufficiently prolonged. ' In effect, being contiguous,
they are quickly warned, in each circumstance, of the need
which they have of one another, and, consequently, they have a
lively and continuous sentiment of their mutual dependence.
For the same reason that exchanges take place among them
easily, they take place frequently ; being regular, they regular-
ize themselves accordingly, and in time the work of consolida-
tion is achieved. Finally, because the smallest reaction can be
felt from one part to another, the rules which are thus for-
mulated carry this imprint ; that is to say, they foresee and
fix, in detail, the conditions of equilibrium. But, on the con-
trary, if some opaque environment is interposed, then only
stimuli of a certain intensity can be communicated from one

THE ANOMIC DIVISION OF LABOR

369

organ to another. Relations, being rare, are not repeated
enough to be determined ; each time there ensues new groping.
The lines of passage taken by the streams of movement can-
not deepen because the streams themselves are too intermittent.
If some rules do come to constitute them, they are, however,
general and vague, for under these conditions it is only the
most general contours of phenomena that can be fixed. The
case will be the same if the contiguity, though sufficient, is
too recent or has not endured long enough.*®

Generally, this condition is found to be realized in the nature
of things. A function can be apportioned between two or
several parts of an organism only if these parts are more or
less contiguous. Moreover, once labor is divided, since they
need one another, they naturally tend to lessen the distance
separating them. That is why as one goes up in the animal
scale, one sees organs coming together, and, as Spencer says,
being introduced in the interstices of one another. But a
set of exceptional circumstances can bring this about dif-
ferently.

This is what happens in the cases we are discussing. In so far
as the segmental type is strongly marked, there are nearly as
many economic markets as there are different segments. Con-
sequently, each of them is very limited. Producers, being near
consumers, can easily reckon the extent of the needs to be
satisfied. Equilibrium is established without any trouble and
production regulates itself. On the contrary, ''as the organized
type develops, the fusion of different segments draws the
markets together into one which embraces almost all society.
This even extends beyond, and tends to become universal, for
the frontiers which separate peoples break down at the same
time as those which separate the segments of each of them.
The result is that each industry produces for consumers spread

** There is, however, a case where anomy can be produced although the
contiguity is sufficient. This occurs when the necessary regulation can be estab-
lished only bv submitting to transformations of which the social structure is
incapable. The plasticity of societies is not indefinite. When it reaches its
limit, even necessary changes are impossible.

370

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

over the whole surface of the country or even of the entire
world. Contact is then no longer sufficient. 'The producer
can no longer embrace the market in a glance, nor even in
thought, f He can no longer see its limits, since it is, so to speak,
limitless. / Accordingly, production becomes unbridled and
unregulated.-' It can only trust to chance, and in the course of
these gropings, it is inevitable that proportions will be abused,
as much in one direction as in another. -'From this come the
crises which periodically disturb economic functions.' The
growth of local, restricted crises which result in failures is in all
likelihood an effect of the same cause.

, As the market extends, great industry appears. But it results
in changing the relations of employers and employees.-' The
great strain upon the nervous system and the contagious influ-
ence of great agglomerations increase the needs of the latter.
Machines replace men; manufacturing replaces hand-work.”
The worker is regimented, separated from his family throughout
the day. He always lives apart from his employer, etc. These
'new conditions of industrial life naturally demand a new organ-
ization, but as these changes have been accomplished with
extreme rapidity, the interests in conflict have not yet had the
time to be equilibrated.*?-

Finally, the explanation of the fact that the moral and social
sciences are in the state we have suggested is that they were the
last to come into the circle of positive sciences. It is hardly a
century since this new field of phenomena has been opened to
scientific investigation. Scholars have installed themselves in
them, some here, some there, according to their tastes. Scat-
tered over this wide surface, they have remained until the
present too remote from one another to feel all the ties which
unite them. But, solely because they will push their researches
farther from their points of departure, they will necessarily
end by reaching and, consequently, taking conscience of their

*• Let US remember^ however, that, as we shall see in the following chapter,
this antagonism is not entirely due to the rapidity of these changes, but, in good
part, to the still very great inequality of the external conditions of the struggle.
On this factor, time has no influence.

THE ANOMIC DIVISION OF LABOR

371

solidarity. The unity of science will thus form of itself, not
through the abstract unity of a formula, far too scanty for the
multitude of things that it must embrace, but through the living
unity of an organic whole. For science to be unitary, it is not
necessary for it to be contained within the field of one and the
same conscience — an impossible feat anyhow — but it is
sufficient that all those who cultivate it feel that they are col-
laborating in the same work.

The preceding has removed one of the most serious charges
brought against the division of labor.

'It has often been a^ccusedjof degrading the individual by
nmking him ^ njachine. And truly, if he does not know whither
the operations he performs are tending, if he relates them to
no end, he can only continue to work through routine!^ Every
day he repeats the same movements wjth monotonous regular-
ity, but without being interested in them, and without under-
standing them. He is no longer a living cell of a living organism
which unceasingly vibrates with neighboring cells, which acts
upon them, and to whose action it responds and with whose
needs and circumstances it changes. He is no longer anything
but an inert piece of machinery, only an external force set
going which always moves in the same direction and in the same
way. Surely, no matter how one may represent the moral
ideal, one cannot remain indifferent to such debasement , .of
^uman nature. If morality has individual perfection as its
goal, it cannot thus permit the ruin of the individual, and if it
has society as its goal, it cannot let the very source of social life
be drained, for the peril does not threaten only economic func-
tions, but all social functions, as elevated as they may be. “ If,”
says Comte, “we have often justly deplored, in the material
world, the workman being exclusively occupied during his whole
life with the manufacture of knife-handles or pin-heads, healthy
philosophy ought not less bemoan, in the intellectual order, the
exclusive and continuous emplosmaent of the human brain in
the resolution of some equations or in the classification of some

372

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

insects. The moral effect, in one case, as in the other, is un-
fortunately very much the same.” ”

As a remedy, it has sometimes been proposed that, in addition
to their technical and special instruction, workers be given a
general education. But, suppose that we can thus relieve some
of the bad effects attributed to the division of labor ; that is not
a means of preventing them. The division does not change its
nature because it has been preceded by general culture. No
doubt, it is good for the worker to be interested in art, literature,
etc., but it is none the less bad that he should be treated as a
machine all day long. Who cannot see, moreover, that two such
existences are too opposed to be reconciled, and cannot be led
by the same man ! If a person has grown accustomed to vast
horizons, total views, broad generalities, he cannot be con-
fined, without impatience, within the strict limits of a special
task. Such a remedy would make specialization inoffensive by
making it intolerable, and, consequently, more or less impossible.

What solves the contradiction is that, contrary to what has
been said, •'the division of labor does not produce these conse-
quences because of a necessity of its own nature, but only in
exceptional and abnormal circumstances.-' In order for it to
develop without having such a disastrous influence on the human
conscience, it is not necessary to temper it with its opposite.
It is necessary and it is sufficient for it to be itself, for nothing
to come from without to denature it. For, normally, the role
of each special function does not require that the individual close
himself in, but that he keep himself in constant relations with
neighboring functions, take conscience of their needs, of the
changes which they undergo, etc. -'The division of labor pre-
sumes that the worker, far from being hemmed in by his task,
idoes not lose sight of his collaborators, that he acts upon them,
and reacts to them.' He is, then, not a machine who repeats his
movements without knowing their meaning, but he knows that
they tend, in some way, towards an end that he conceives more
or less distinctly. He feels that he is serving something. For
»» Cour*. IV, p. 430.

THE ANOMIC DIVISION OF LABOR

373

that, he need not embrace vast portions of the social horizon ; it
is sufficient that he perceive enough of it to understand that
his actions have an aim beyond themselves. From that time,
as special and uniform as his activity may be, it is that of an
intelligent being, for it has direction, and he knows it. The
economists would not have left this essential character of the
division of labor in the shade and, accordingly, would not have
exposed it to this unmerited reproach, if they had not reduced
it to being merely a means of increasing the produce of social
forces, if they had seen that it is above all a source of solidarity.

CHAPTER TWO

THE FORCED DIVISION OF LABOR
I

' It is not sufScient that there be rules, however, for some-
times the rules thems^es are the caus^'of evil.-’ This is what
occurs in class-wars. The institution of classes and of castes
constitutes an organization of the division of labor, and it is a
strictly regulated organization, although it often is a source
of dissension. The lower classes not being, or no longer being,
satisfied with the role which has devolved upon them from
custom or by law aspire to functions which are closed to them
and seek to dispossess those who are exercising these functions.
Thu s civil wa rs arise which are due to the manner in which
labor is distributed.

There is n othin g similar to this in the organism. No doubt,
during periods of crises, 'the different tissues war against one
another and nourish themselves at the expense of others. But
never does one cell or organ seek to usurp a role different from
the one which it is filling. The reason for this is that each
anatomic element automatically executes its purpose. Its
constitution, its place in the organism, determines its vocation ;
its task is a consequence of its nature. It can badly acquit
itself, but it cannot assume another’s task unless the latter
abandons it, as happens in the rare cases of substitution that
we have spoken of. It is not so in societ ies. Here the possibil-
ity is greater. There is a greater distance between the heredi-
tary dispositions of the individual and the social function he will
fill. The first do not imply the second with such immediate
necessity. This space, open to striAdng and deliberation, is

374

THE FORCED DIVISION OF LABOR

375

also at the mercy of a multitude of causes which can make
individual nature deviate from its normal direction and create
a pathological state. Because this organization is more supple,
it is also more delicate and more accessible to change. Doubt-
less, we are not, from birth, predestined to some special position ;
but we do have tastes and aptitudes which limit our choice. If
no care is taken of them, if they are ceaselessly disturbed by our
daily occupations, we shall suffer and seek a way of putting an end
to our suffering. But there is no other way out than to change
the established order and to set up a new one. ^For the division
of labor to produce solidarity, it is not sufficient, then, that
each have his task ; it is still necessary that this task be fitting
to him.

Now, it is this condition which is not realized in the case
we are examining. ^In effect, if the institution of classes or
•castes sometimes gives rise to anxiety and pain instead of
producing solidarity, this is because the distribution of social
functions on which it rests does not respond, or rather no
longer responds, to the distribution of natural talents/ For,
despite the claim,^ it is not solely because of the spirit of imi-
tation that lower classes are ambitious to elevate themselves
to higher classes. Indeed, imitation can by itself explain
nothing, since it supposes something other than itself. It is
possible only between beings who already resemble each other
and only in proportion to their resemblance. It is not* produced
between different species or different varieties. It is the same
with moral contagion as with physical contagion ; it manifests
itself only on predisposed ground. For needs to flow from
one class to another, differences which originally separated
these classes must have disappeared or grown less. Through
changes produced in society, some must have become apt at
functions which were at first beyond them, while the others
lost their original superiority. When the plebeians aimed to
dispute the right to religious and administrative functions
with the patricians, it was not only in imitation of the latter,

^ Tarde, Lois de Vimitation,

376

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

but it was also because they had become more intelligent,
richer, more numerous, and their tastes and ambitions had in
consequence been modified. In accordance with these trans-
formations, the agreement between the aptitudes of individuals
and the kind of activity assigned to them is found to be broken
in every region of society; constraint alone, more or less
violent and more or less direct, links them to their functions.
Consequently, only an imperfect and troubled solidarity is
possible.

Thus/^his result is not a necessary consequence of the divi-
sion of labor. It comes about only under particular circum-
stances, that is, when it is an effect of an external force. '^*The
case is quite otherwise when it is established in virtue of purely
internal spontaneity, without anything coming to disturb the
initiative of individuals. In this condition, harmony between
individual natures and social functions cannot fail to be realized;
at least in the average case. For, if nothing impedes or un-
duly favors those disputing over tasks, it is inevitable that only
those who are most apt at each kind of activity will indulge
in it. The only cause determining the manner in which work
is divided, then, is the diversity of capacities. In the nature
of things, the apportioning is made through aptitudes, since
there is no reason for doing otherwise. Thus, the harmony
between the constitution of each individual and his condition
is realized of itself. It will be said that it is not always suffi-
cient to make men content, that there are some men whose
desires go beyond their faculties. This is true, but these are
exceptional and, one may say, morbid cases. Normally , nnaTi
fi nds h appiness in realizing his nature; his needs. are. in. rg}a-
tion .to .his means.. Thus, .in the organism, each organ demands
only as much food as it requires,

'' The forced division of labor is, then, the second abnormal
t3rpe that we meet. But the sense of the word “forced” must
not be misunderstood.'* Constraint is not every kind of regu-
lation, since, as we have just seen, the division of labor cannot
do without regulation.'^ Even when functions are divided in

THE FORCED DIVISION OF LABOR

377

accordance with pre-established rules, this apportioning is not
necessarily the result of constraint. This is what takes place
even under the rule of castes, in so far as that is founded in the
nature of the society. This institution is never arbitrary
throughout, but when it functions in a society in regular
fashion without resistance, it expresses, at least in the large,
the immutable manner in which occupational aptitudes dis-
tribute themselves. That is why, although tasks are, in
certain measure, divided by law, each organ executes its own
automatically.^ Constraint only begins when regulation, no
longer corresponding to the true nature of things, and, ac-
cordingly, no longer having any basis in customs, can only be
validated through force. ’

Inversely, /'we may say that the division of labor produces
solidarity only if it is spontaneous and in proportion as it is
spontaneous. But by spontaneity we must understand not
simply the absence of all express violence, but also of everything
that can even indirectly shackle the free unfolding of the social
force that each carries in himself.-' It supposes, not only that
individuals are not relegated to determinate functions by
force, but also that no obstacle, of whatever nature, prevents
them from occupying the place in the social framework which
is compatible with their faculties. -• In short, labor is divided!
spontaneously only if society is constituted in such a way that
social inequalities exactly express natural inequalities.^ But,
for that, it is necessary and sufficient that the latter be neither
enhanced nor lowered by some external cause. Perfect spon-
taneity is, then, only a consequence and another form of this
other fact, — absolute equality in the external conditions of
the conflict. It consists, not in a state of anarchy which would
permit men freely to satisfy all their good or bad tendencies,
but in a subtle organization in which each social value, being
neither overestimated nor underestimated by anything foreign
to it, would be judged at its true worth. It will be objected that,
even under these conditions, there will still be conflict between
the conquerors and the conquered, and that the latter will never

378

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

accept defeat except when forced to do so. But this constraint
does not resemble the other; they have only their name in
common. What really constitutes constraint is the making
of conflict itself impossible and refusing to admit the right of
combat.

/It is true that this perfect spontaneity is never met with
anywhere as a realized fact. There is no society where it is
unadulterated. If the institution of castes corresponds to the
natural apportionment of capacities, it is, however, only in a
very proximate and rough and ready manner. Heredity never
acts with such precision that, even where it meets with most
favorable conditions for its purpose, children can be identical
with their parents./ There are always exceptions to this rule,
and, consequently, cases where the individual is not in harmony
with the functions which are attributed to him. These dis-
crepancies become more numerous as society develops, until,
one day, the framework becomes too narrow and breaks down.
When the regime of castes has lost juridical force, it survives
by itself in customs, and, thanks to the persistance of certain
prejudices, a certain distinction is attached to some individuals,
a certain lack of distinction attached to others, independent of
their merits. Finally, even where there remains no vestige of
the past, hereditary transmission of wealth is enough to make
the external conditions under which the conflict takes place
very unequal, for it gives advantages to some which are not
necessarily in keeping with their personal worth. Even today
among the most cultivated peoples, there are careers which are
either totally closed to or very difficult to be entered into by
those who are bereft of fortune. It would thus' seem that we|
have not the right to consider as normal a character which th^
division of labor never purely presents if it is noted that the more
we advance on the social scale the more the segmental type
klisappears into the organized t3rpe, and the more these in-
equalities tend to become completely level.

The progressive decline of castes, beginning from the moment
the division of labor is established, is.^an historical law, for,

THE FORCED DIVISION OF LABOR ^79

as they are linked to the politico-familial oi^anization, they
necessarily regress along with this organization. The prejudices
to which they have given rise and which they leave behind do
not survive them indefinitely, but slowly become obliterated.
'Public office is more and more freely open to everybody with
no question as to wealth.' Finally, even this last inequality,
which comes about through birth, though not completely dis-
appearing, is at least somewhat attenuated.^ Society is forced
to reduce this disparity as far as possible by assisting in various
ways those who find themselves in a disadvantageous position
and by aiding them to overcome it.*' It thus shows that it feels
obliged to leave free space for all merits and that it regards as
unjust any inferiority which is not personally merited. But
what manifests this tendency even more is the belief, so wide-
spread today, that equality among citizens becomes ever greater
arid that it is just that this be so. A sentiment so general
cannot be a pure illusion, but must express, in confused fashion,
some aspect of reality. '' But as the progress of the division
of labor implies, on the contrary, an ever growing inequality,
the equality which public conscience thus affirms can only be
the one of which we are^speaking, that is, equality in the external
conditions of conflict. '

It is, moreover, easy to understand what makes this leveling
process necessary. We have just seen thk^^all external in-
equalTty compromises organic solidarity. / There is nothing
vexatious in this for lower societies where solidarity is assured
pre-eminently by the community of beliefs and sentiments.
However strained the ties which come from the division of labor,
nevertheless, since they are not the ones which most strongly
attach the individual to society, social cohesion is not menaced.!
The uneasiness which results from contrary aspirations is not
enough to turn those who harbor them against the social order
which is their cause, for they cling to this social order, not be-
cause they find in it the necessary field for the development
of their occupational activity, but because it contains a multi-
tude of beliefs and ppctices by which they live. They cling.

380

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

to it because their whole internal life is linked with it, because
jail their convictions presuppose it, because, serving as a basis
for the moral and religious order, it appears to them as sacred.
Private disturbances of a temporal nature are evidently too
slight to upset states of conscience which derive such an ex-
ceptional force from such an origin. Moreover, as occupational
life is but little developed, these disturbances are only inter-
mittent. For all these reasons, they are weakly felt. They
occur without trouble ensuing. , Men even find inequalities
not only tolerable but natural./

/It is quite the contrary which is produced when organic
solidarity becomes predominant, for, then, whatever under-
mines it attacks the social tie in its vital part./ First of all,
since under these conditions "speciairaclivitie^iare pursued in
a somewhat continuous manner, they cannot be oi)posed with-
out resultin^lif^ntinuous suffering. Thea^-as the collective
conscience becomes weak,/ the anxieties which are thus pro-
duced can no longer be as completely neutralized. Common
sentiments no longer have the same force to keep the individual
attached to the group under any circumstances. / Subversive
tendencies, no longer having the same consequences, occur
more frequently. More and more losing the transcendent
character which placed it in a sphere higher than human in-
terests, /social organization no longer has the same force of
resistance while it is breaking down/ A work wholly human,
it can no longer so well oppose human demands. When the
flood becomes very violent, the dam which holds it in is broken
down. It thus becomes more dangerous. That is why,'' in
organized societies, it is indispensable that the division o^
labor be more and more in harmony with this ideal of spon^
taneity that we have just defined.'' If they bend all their efforts',
and must so bend them, /to doing away with external inegiiftl-
i to a s far as possible, that is not only because^ enterprise is
good, but becau% their very existence is involvedin the problem.
For they can maintain themselves only if all the parts of which
they are formed are solidary, and solidity is possible only

THE FORCED DIVISION OF LABOR

381

under this condition. Hence, it can be seen that this work of
justice will become ever more complete, as the organized type
develops. No matter how important the progress already
realized in this direction, it gives, in all likelihood, only a small
idea of what will be realized in the future.

, II

' Equality in the* external conditions of conflict is not only
necessary to attach each individual to his function, but also to
link functions to one another.

Contr actual relations necessarily develop with the division
of labor, since the latter is not possible without exchange,
and the contract is the juridical form of exchange.*' In other
words, one of the important varieties of organic solidarity is
what one might call contractual solidarity.'^' Of course, to
bfelieve that all social relations come under the heading of
contracts is false, because a contract supposes something other
than itself. They are, however, special links which have their
origin in the will of individuals. <yThere is a consensus of a
certain kind which is expressed in contracts and which, in
higher species, represents an important factor in general con-
sensus.'/ It is thus necessary that, in these same societies,
contractual solidarity be, as far as possible, protected from all
that can disturb it. For if, in less advanced societies, it can
be unstable without great inconvenience (for the reasons we
have given), where it is one of the eminent forms of social
solidarity it cannot be threatened without threatening the
imity of the social body at the same time. Conflicts arising
from contracts become more serious as contract itself assumes
greater importance in general life. Thus, whereas primitive
societies do not even intervene in their resolution,* the con-
tractual law of civilized peoples becomes ever more voluminous.
But it has no other object than to assure the regular concourse
of functions which enter into relations in this manner.

* See Strabo, p. 702. Even in the Pentateuch no regulation of contracts is
found.

382

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

For this result to be attained, however, it is not enough for
public authority to desire that engagements contracted for be
kept; it is still necessary, at least in the great majority of
cases, that they be spontaneously kept. If contracts were
o^ryedonly^ by .force, or through fear of. forc e, contractu al
solidarity would be very precarious.',* A wholly external order
would badly cover disturbances too general to be indefinitely
controlled. But, it is said, to alleviate this fear it is sufficient
that contracts be freely consented to. That is true, but the
aifficulty is not resolved by that; for what constitutes free
consent? Verbal or written acquiescence is not sufficient
proof; one may acquiesce only through force. It is then
necessary that all constraint be absent. But . w he re does
constraint, Jsegin? It does not consist solely in the direct use
of violence, for indirect violence suppresses liberty quite as well.
If the engagement which I have extorted by threatening some-
one with death is morally and legally void, why should it be
valid if, to obtain it, I profited from some situation which I
did not cause but which put someone else under the necessity
of yielding to me or dsdng?

In a given society each object of exchange has, at each
moment, a determined value which we might call its social
value. It represents the quantity of useful labor which it con-
tains. By that must be understood, not the integral labor
! which it might have cost, but that part of the energy capable
jof producing useful social effects, that is, effects which reply
[to normal needs. Although this magnitude cannot be mathe-
matically calculated, it is none the less real. It is very easy to
perceive the principal conditions in relation to whfch it varies.
They are, above all, the sum of efforts necessary to produce
the object, the intensity of the needs which it satisfies, and
finally the extent of the satisfaction it brings. In fact, it is
around this point that average value oscillates. It deviates
from it only under the infiuence of abnormal factors, and, in
that case, public conscience generally has a somewhat lively
'sentiment of this deviation. It finds unjust every exchange

THE FORCED DIVISION OF LABOR

383

where the price of the object bears no relation to the trouble
it cost and the services it renders.

This definition set forth, we shall say t ^t a c ontract is fu lly
consented to only if the ^ryices exchanged have an equivalent
sociaPvalue? Under these conditions each receives in effect
the thihglie desires and delivers what he gives in return so that
each has a value for the other. This equilibrium of wills which
a contract establishes and consecrates is, thus, produced and
maintained of itself, since it is only a consequence and another
form of the very equilibrium of things. It is truly spontaneous.
To be sure, we sometimes desire more for our product than it
is worth; our ambitions are limitless and, consequently, are
moderated only because they are restrained by those of others.
But this constraint which prevents us from satisfying our
unchecked desires without measure must not be confused with
that which deprives us of the means of obtaining the just re-
muneration for our work. For the reasonable man the first
kind of constraint does not exist. The second alone deserves
to be called by this name ; by itself, it alters the conditions of
consent. But it does not exist in the case we have just spoken
of. If, on the contrary, the values exchanged are not balanced,
they can be put into equilibrium only if some external force
has been thrown into the balance. Suppose there had been
injury done from one side to the other ; the wills could not be
put in accord without one of them being submitted to direct
or indirect pressure, and this pressure constitutes violence.
In short, for the obligatory force of a contract to be complete,
it is not sufficient that it be the object of an expressed assent.
It is still necessary for it to be just, and it is not just by virtue
of mere verbal consent. A simple state of the subject cannot
bestow upon the contract this power of linking which is in-
herent in conventions. At least, for consent to have this virtue
'it must rest upon an objective foundation.]

In order that this equivalence be the rule for contracts it is
necessary that the contracting parties be placed in conditions
externally equal. Since the appreciation of things cannot

384

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

be determined o priori, but comes out of exchanges themselves,
the individuals who are exchanging must have no other force
than that which comes from their social worth if their labor
is to be properly evaluated. In this way, the values of things
exactly correspond to the services that they render and the
trouble that they cost, for every other factor capable of making
them vary is, by hypothesis, eliminated. To be sure, the
unequal merit of men will always bring them into unequal
situations in society, but these inequalities are external only
in appearance, for they are only the external manifestations
of internal inequalities. They have no other influence over
the determination of values except to establish a gradation
among the latter parallel to the hierarchy of social functions.
The situation is no longer the same if some receive supple-
mentar»4||Mrgy from some other source, for that necessarily
results wMffsplacing the point of equilibrium, and it is clear
that this displacement is independent of the social value of
things. All superiority has its effect on the manner in which
contracts are made. If, then, it does not derive from the
persons of the individuals, from their social services, it falsi-
fies the moral conditions of exchange. If one class of society
is obliged, in order to live, to take any price for its services,
while another can abstain from such action thanks to re-
sources at its disposal which, however, are not necessarily due
to any social superiority, the second has an unjust advantage
over the first at law. 'In other words, there cannot be rich
and poor at birth without there being unjust contracts. This
was still more the case when social status itself was hereditary
and law sanctioned all sorts of inequalities.

These injustices are not strongly felt, however, as long as
contractual relations are but little developed and the collective
conscience is strong. Because of the rarity of contracts, there
are fewer occasions for them, and, then, common beliefs neutral-
ize their effects. Society does not suffer from this situation
since it is not endangered by it.i But, as labor becomes more
divided and social faith grows weak, these same injustices

THE FORCED DIVISION OF LABOR

385

become more insupportable, since the circumstances which
give rise to them reappear very often and also because the senti-
ments which they evoke can no longer be as completely tem-
pered by contrary sentiments.) This is shown in the history
of contract-law, which tends more and more to detract all
Value from conventions where the contracting parties are
found in situations that are too unequal. 1

Originally, every contract, drawn up as formally prescribed,
had oblfgatory force, no matter how it was obtained. Assent
was not even the chief factor. The accord of wills was not
sufficient to link them, and the links formed did not directly
result from this accord. ^ For a contract to exist, it was neces-
sary, and it was sufficient, for certain ceremonies to be ac-
complished, such as the pronouncing of certain words, and
the nature of the engagement was determined, nqt^the intent
of the parties, but by the formulas employed.®'45me contract
of consent appears only in a relatively recent epoch.^ It is
the first progress made in the system of justice./ But, for a
long time, the consent which sufficed to validate compacts
was very imperfect, that is,/ extorted by force or by fraudj
It was at a much later date that the Roman praetor accorded
to victims of fraud and violence the action de dolo and the
action quod metus causa still violence had legal existence
only if there had been the threat of death or corporal punish-
ment.) Our law has become more exacting on this point.
At the same time, injqry, duly established, was put among
the causes which could, in certain cases, annul contracts.®
Is this not the reason why civilized peoples refuse to recognize
an usurious contract? It is because the usurious contract

* See the contract verbis, liiteris, et re in Roman law. Cf. Esmein, Etudes sur
les contrats dans le trts ancien droit frangais, Paris, 1883.

* Ulpian looks at contracts of consent as being juris gentium. But the whole
jus gentium is certainly of later origin than civil law. See Voigt, Jus gentium.

^The action quod metus causa which is slightly earlier than the action de
dolo is later than the dictatorship of Sulla. The date is put at 674.

* Diocletian decided that a contract could be rescinded if the price was lower
than one half of the real value. Our law permits rescindment because of injury
only in the case of real property.

386

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

presupposes that one of the contracting parties is too much
at the mercy of the other./ Finally, common moraUty very
severely condemns every kind of leonine contract wherein
one of the parties is exploited by the other because he is too
weak to receive the just reward for his services. < Pubhc con-
science demands, in an ever more pressing manner, an exact
reciprocity in the services exchanged, but it recognizes only
one obligatory form highly curtailed through conventions
which do not fulfill this fundamental condition of all justice.
It shows itself much more indulgent than law towards those
who violate them, j

Credit is due the econom ists for first having seen the spon-
taneous character of social fife, and having shown that con-
straint could only make it deviate from its natural direction
and that, normally, it results, not in arrangements which are
external and imposed, but in a free internal elaboration. In
this regard, they have rendered an important service to the
science of morality. They have, however, been mistaken
as to the nature of this liberty. Since they see it as a consti-
tutive attribute of man, since they logically deduce it from
the concept of the individual in itself, it seems to them to be
entirely a state of nature, leaving aside all of society. / Social
action, according to them, has nothing to add to it ; /all that
it can and must do is to regulate the external functioning in
such a way that the competing liberties do not harm one an-
other./' And, if it is not strictly confine'd within these limits,
it encroaches on the legitimate domain of the individual and
diminishes it. ,

'But, besides the fact that it is false to believe that all regu-
lation is the product of constraint, it happens that liberty
itself is the product of regulation.' Far from being antagonis-
tic to social action, it results from social action.*' It is far from
being an inherent property of the state of nature. On the
contrary, it is a conquest of society over nature. Naturally,
men are unequal in physical force ; naturally, they are placed

THE FORCED DIVISION OF LABOR

387

under external conditions unequally advantageous; domestic
life itself, with the heredity of goods that it implies and the
inequalities which come from that, is, of aU the forms of social
life, that which depends most strictly on natural causes, and we
have just seen that these inequaUties are the very negation
of liberty. /In short, liberty is the subordination of external
forces to social forces, for it is only in this condition that the
latter can freely develop themselves. But this subordination
is rather the reverse of the natural order.'/ It can, then, realize
itself progressively only in so far as man raises himself above
things and makes law for them, thus depriving them of their
fortuitous, absurd, amoral character; that is, in so far as he
becomes a social being. For he can escape nature only by
creating another world where he dominates nature. That
world is society .y

■ ' The task of the most advanced societies is, then, a work of
justice. ' That they, in fact, feel the necessity of orienting them-
selves in this direction is what we have already shown and what
every-day experience proves to us./ Just as the ideal of lower
societies was to create or maintain as intense a common life
as possible, in which the individual was absorbed, so our ideal
is to make social relations always more equitable, so as to
assure the free development of all our socially useful forces./
When one remembers, however, that for centuries men have
been content with a much less perfect justice, one may ask if
these aspirations might not perhaps be due to unreasonable
impatience; if they do not represent a deviation from the
normal state rather than an anticipation of the coming normal
state ; if, in short, the means for curing the evil whose exist-
ence these aspirations reveal is through their satisfaction or
elimination. The propositions established in the preceding

^ We do not mean that society is outside of nature, if one understands by
that the totality of phenomena which obey the law of causality. By natural
order, we mean only that which is produced in what is called the state of nature,
that is, under the exclusive influence of physical and organic-psychic forces.

* See Book 11, ch. v. — Once more it is seen that free contract is not in itself
sufficient, since it is possible only through a very complex social organization.

388

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

books permit us to reply to this question with precision. There
are no needs more firmly intrenched than these tendencies,
for they are a necessary consequence of changes which have
occurred in the structure of societies. /Because the segmental
type is effaced and the organized type develops, because organic
solidarity is slowly substituted for that which comes from
resemblances, it is indispensable that external conditions
become levels The harmony of functions and, accordingly,
of existence, is at stake. Just as ancient peoples needed,
above all, a common faith to live by, so we need justice, and we
can be sure that this need will become ever more exacting if,
as every fact presages, the conditions dominating social evo-
lution remain the same.

CHAPTER THREE

ANOTHER ABNORMAL FORM

We must now describe one last abnormal form.

It often happens in a commercial, industrial, or other enter-
prise that functions are distributed in such a way that they do
not offer sufficient material for individual activity. There is
evidently a deplorable loss of effort in that, but we need not
trouble ourselves with the economic aspects of the situation.
What should be of interest to us is another fact which always
accompanies this waste, — a more or less great lack of co-ordi-
nation of these functions. ^It is well known that in a business
where each employee is not sufficiently occupied movements are
badly adjusted to one another, operations are carried on without
any unity; in short, solidarity breaks down, incoherence and
disorder make their appearance..-' At the court of the lower
Empire, functions were infinitely specialized, and yet veritable
anarchy resulted. Thus, there are cases where the division of
labor, pushed very far, produces a very imperfect integration.
How does this happen? ( We might be tempted to reply that
what is lacking is a regulative organ, a direction. This expla-
nation is not very satisfying, since, very often, this unhealthy
state is the work of the directive power itself. /For the evil to
disappear, it is not enough that there be regulative action, but
this must be employed in a certain way. We are well aware of
the way in which it should be used.- The first care of an intel-
ligent, scientific chief will be to suppress useless tasks, to dis-
tribute work in such a way that each one will be sufficiently
occupied, and, consequently, to increase the functional activity
of each worker./ Thus, order will be achieved at the same time
that work is more economically managed. How is this to be

390

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

don e? We have already seen it badly done. For, ultimately,
if each functionary has a well determined task, if he performs it
well, he will necessarily need help from neighboring function-
aries, and will not feel solidary without it. Is it important
whether this task is small or large, so long as it is specialized?
Is it important whether or not it absorbs his time and energies?

It is very important. In general fashion, solidarity depends
very greatly upon the functional activity of specialized parts.
The two terms vary with each other. Where functions lan-
guish, they are not well specialized, they are badly co-ordinated,
and incompletely feel their mutual dependence. A few ex-
amples clearly make this fact evident. In man, as Spencer
says, suffocation stops the flow of blood through the capillaries,
and this obstacle is followed by a congestion and arresting of the
heart ; in a few seconds, great distress is produced in the organ-
ism, and in a minute or two functions cease.' All life depends
very greatly upon respiration. But, in a frog, respiration can
be stopped for a long time without causing any disorder, the
aeration of the blood which takes place through the skin being
enough, or, being wholly deprived of respirable air, it finds the
oxygen coming from its tissues sufficient. Thus, there is great
independence of, and consequently an imperfect solidarity
between the respiratory function of the frog and the other
functions of the organism, as the latter can subsist without the
aid of the former. This results from the fact that the tissues of
the frog, not having as great a functional activity as man’s, have
less need for renewing their oxygen, and ’throwing off carbon
dioxide produced by their combustion. To take another in-
stance : a mammifer has to take nourishment very regularly ;
the rhythm of its respiration, in its normal state, obviously re-
mains the same ; its rest-periods are never very long. In other
words, its respiratory functions, its nutritive functions, its rela-
tional functions, are ceaselessly necessary to one another, and to
the whole oi^anism, to such a degree that none of them can long
remain suspended without danger to the others and to general

* Principles of Biology, II, p. 131.

ANOTHER ABNORMAL FORM

391

life. A snake, on the other hand, takes nourishment only at
long intervals ; its periods of activity and rest are remote from
each other; its respiration, sometimes very apparent, is
occasionally almost nil. That is to say, its functions are not
strongly linked, and can without inconvenience be isolated from
one another. The reason for this is that its functional activity
is less than that of mammifers. The loss to tissues being
smaller, they need less oxygen ; their wear being smaller, and
movements designated to pursue and seize booty less frequent,
reparation is less often necessary. Spencer has further noticed
that we find in unorganized nature examples of the same phe-
nomenon. He tells us to look at a very complicated machine
whose parts are not well adjusted or have become very loose
through wear, and then to examine it when it is stopping. You
then observe, he says, certain irregularities of movement about
the time it reaches a state of rest ; some parts stop first, re-
cover movement by the effect of the continuance of movement
in others, and then they become in turn causes of renewal of
movement in other parts which had ceased to move. In other
words, he continues, when the rhythmical changes of the
machine are rapid, the actions and reactions that they exer-
cise on one another are regular, and all the movements are
well integrated, but, as speed slackens, irregularities are pro-
duced, movements disintegrate.*

What makes this growth of functional activity determine a
growth of solidarity is thatdihe functions of an organism can
become more active only on condition of also becoming more
continuous.*^ Consider one of them in particular. As it can do
nothing without the help of the others, so it can produce more
only if the others produce more. But the tasks of these can be
elevated, in their turn, only if that one can elevate itself by a
new effort. All growth of activity in a function, implying a
corresponding growth in solidary functions, implies a new
growth in the former. This is possible only if it becomes more
continuous. Carefully considered, moreover, these counter-
* Spencer, Principlea of Biology , II, p. 131.

392

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

blows are not indefinitely produced, but a time comes when
equilibrium is established anew. If the muscles and the nerves
work more, richer nourishment will be necessary for them, which
the stomach will furnish on condition of functioning more
actively ; but to accomplish this, it will be necessary for it to
receive more materials to work with, and these materials will
be obtained only through a new dispensation of nervous and
muscular energy. A very great industrial production neces-
sitates the investment of a very great quantity of capital in the
form of machines, but this capital, in its turn, in order to hold
itself together, to repair its losses, that is to say, to pay the price
of its hire, demands a very great industrial production. / When
the movement which animates all the parts of a machine is very
rapid, it is uninterrupted because it passes without disturbance
from one to the other. They mutually come together. If,
moreover, not only an isolated function, but all of them at the
same time become more active, the continuity of each will be
still more increased. '

Accordingly, they will be more solidary. ''Being more con-
tinuous, they are in a much closer relation and more continually
have need of one another.' They feel their dependence more.
Under large-scale industry, the entrepreneur is more dependent
upon the workers, provided that they act together, for strikes,
by stopping production, hinder capital from holding together.
But the worker himself can less easily stop work since his needs
grow with his work. When, on the contrary, activity is smaller,
needs are more intermittent, and so are the relations which unite
functions. Only occasionally do they feel their solidarity,
which is much looser.

If, then, the work furnished is not only not considerable but
even insufficient, it is natural that solidarity itself is not only
less perfect, but becomes more and more completely faulty.
This is what happens in enterprises where tasks are apportioned
in such" a way that the activity of each worker is lower than it
would normally be. The different functions are, then, too dis-
continuous to ^ able to adjust themselves exactly to one another

ANOTHER ABNORMAL FORM

393

and move in concert. This is how the incoherence spoken
about comes into being.

''But exceptional circumstances must arise for the division of
labor to be placed in such a situation. Normally, it does not
develop without functional activity growing at the same time
and in the same proportion.'' In effect, the same causes that
oblige us to specialize more also oblige us to work more. When
the number of competitors becomes greater in society, it also
becomes greater in each particular profession. The struggle
becomes more lively, and, consequently, more efforts are neces-
sary to sustain it. Moreover, the division of labor tends of
itself to make these functions more active and more continuous.
Economists have, for a long time, assigned reasons for this
phenomenon. These are the principal ones : 1. When work is
not divided, it must ceaselessly upset us, we must pass from one
occupation to another. The division of labor economizes on all
this lost time. In Karl Marx’s words, it contracts the pores of
the working-day. 2. Functional activity grows with the com-
petency, the talent of the workman as the division of labor
develops ; there is less time lost in hesitation and vacillation.

The American sociologist, Carey, has strongly stated this
characteristic of the division of labor. "In the movements of
the isolated settler, however, there can be no continuity.
Dependent for supplies upon his powers of appropriation, and
compelled to wander over extensive surfaces, he finds himself
not infrequently in danger of perishing for want of food. Even
when successful, he is compelled to intermit his search, and pro-
vide for effecting the change of place required for bringing his
food, his miserable habitation, and himself together. There
arrived, he is forced to be, in turn, cook and tailor, mason and
carpenter. Deprived of artificial light, his nights are wholly
useless, while his power productively to apply his days is
dependent altogether upon the chances of the weather. . . .
Discovering, however, at length, that he has a neighbor,*

’ This is really only a metaphorical way of putting things. They did not occur
thus historically. Man did not discover one fine day that he had a neighbor.

394

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

exchanges arise between them ; but, occupying different parts
of the island, they find themselves compelled to approach each
other precisely as do the stones with which they pound their
grain. . . . Further, when they meet, difficulties exist in
settling the terms of trade, by reason of the irregularity of the
supply of the various commodities with which they desire to
part. The fisherman has had good luck, and has taken many
fish ; but chance has enabled the hunter to obtain a supply of
fish, and now he wants only fruit, which the fisherman has not.
— Difference being, as we already know, indispensable to
association, the want of difference would here oppose a bar to
association difficult to be surmounted. ... In time, however,
wealth and population grow, and with that growth there is an
increase of motion in the community — the husband now ex-
changing services with the wife, the parents with the children,
and the children with each other — one providing fish, a second
meat, and a third grain ; while a fourth converts the wool into
cloth, and a fifth the skins into shoes. ... At every step we
witness an increased rapidity of motion, with increase of force
on the part of man.” *

In fact, besides this, we may observe that labor becomes more
continuous as it is more divided. Animals and savages work in
a very capricious manner when they are forced by necessity to
satisfy some immediate need. In societies which are exclusively
agricultural and pastoral, labor is almost entirely suspended
during the season of bad weather. In Rome, it was interrupted
by a multitude of holidays and days of rest.® In the middle
ages, cessation from work occurred even more often.® As we go
forward, however, work becomes a permanent occupation, a
habit, and indeed, if this habit is sufficiently strengthened, a need.
But it would not have been set up and the corresponding need
would not have arisen, if work had remained irregular and
intermittent as heretofore.

* Carey, Principles of Social Science, pp. 202-204.

* Marquardt, Rdmische StaatsverwcUtung, III, pp. 545 ff .

* See Levasseur, Lee daeeee ouvrih-es en France juaqu*^ la R4volution, I, p. 474
. and p. 475.

ANOTHER ABNORMAL FORM

395

✓ We are thus led to the recognition of a new reason why the
division of labor is a source of social cohesion. It makes indi-
viduals solidary, as we have said before, not only because it
limits the activity of each, but also because it increases it.'^ It
adds to the unity of the organism, solely through adding to its
life. At least, in its normal state, it does not produce one of
these effects without the other.

CONCLUSION

I

We are now in a position to solve the practical problem that
we posed for ourselves at the beginning of this work.

If there is one rule of conduct which is incontestable, it is that
which orders us to realize in ourselves the essential traits of the
collective type. Among lower peoples, this reaches its greatest
rigor. There, one’s first duty is to resemble everybody else, not
to have anything personal about one’s beliefs or actions. I n
mo re advanced societies, required likenesses are less nu merous ;
t he absences of some likenesses, however, is still a s ign of moral
failure Of cours e, crime falls i nto fewer different catego ries ;
but today, as heretofore, if a criminal is the object of reproba-
tionTTt is because he' is unlike us. Likewise, in lesser degree,
acts simply immoraT andHprohibited as such are those which
evince dissemblances less profound but nevertheless coi|sidered
serious. Is this not the case with the rule which common
morality expresses when it orders a man to be a man in every
sense of the word, which is to say, to have all the ideas and
sentiments which go to make up a human conscience? No
doubt, if this formula is taken literally, the man prescribed
would be man in general and not one of some particular social
species. But, in reality, this human conscience that we must
integrally realize is nothing else than the collective conscience
of the group of which we are a part. For what can it be com-
posed of, if not the ideas and sentiments to which we are most
attached? Where can we find the traits of our model, if not
within us and around us? If we believe that this collective
ideal is that of all humanity, that is because it has become so
abstract and general that it appears fitting for all men indis-

396

CONCLUSION

397

criminately. But, really, every people makes for itself some
particular conception of this type which pertains to its personal
temperament. Each represents it in its own image. Even
the moralist who thinks he can, through thought, overcome
the influence of transient ideas, cannot do so, for he is im-
pregnated with them, and no matter what he does, he finds
these precepts in the body of his deductions. That is why each
nation has its own school of moral philosophy conforming to its
character.

On the other hand, we have shown that this rnlft had i ts
function the prevention of all agitation of the common con-
sci ehce, and, consequ e ntly, of social solidarity, and t hat it c ould
acc omplish this rol e only b y having a moral character . It is
impossible for offenses against the most fundamental collective
sentiments to be tolerated without the disintegration of society,
and it is necessary to combat them with the aid of the particu-
larly energetic reaction which attaches to moral rules.

But the contrary rule, which orders us to specialize, has ex-
actly the same function. It also is necessary for the cohesion
of societies, at least at a certain period in their evolution. Of
course, its solidarity is different from the preceding, but though
it is different, it is no less indispensable. H igher societies ca n
maintai n themselv es in equilibrium only if labor is divid ed ; the
attr action of like f or like less a nd less suffices to p r oduce th is
result. If, then, the moral character of the first of these rules
is necessary to the playing of its role, it is no less necessary to the
second. They both correspond to the same social need, but
satisfy the need differently, because the conditions of existence
in the societies themselves differ. Consequently, without
speculating concerning the first principle of ethics, we can induce
the moral value of one from the moral value of the other. If,
from certain points of view, there is a real antagonism between
them, that is not because they serve different ends. On the
contrary, it is because they lead to the same end, but through
opposed means. Accordingly, there is no necessity for choosing
between them once for all nor of condemning one in the name of

398

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

the other. What is necessary is to give each, at each moment
in history, the place that is fitting to it.

Perhaps we can even generalize further in this matter.

The requirements of our subject have obliged us to classif y
m oral rules and to review the principal tvne s. We are thus in
a better position than we were in the begiiming to see, or at least
to conjecture, not only upon the external sign, but also upon the
internal character which is common to all of them and which
can serve to define them. / We have put them into two groups :
r ules with repressive sancti(5is , whi ch may be diffuse or organ -
ized,, and rules with restitutive sanction s. We have seen that
the first of these express the condi tions of the solidari ty, sui
aenens. whic h comes from resemblances, an d to which we have
gi ven the name mechanical; the second, the condit ions of
negate solidarity ^ and organic solidarity. We can thus say.
that, in generalT ^e ch^acteristic_p_f m^l nilea is that,, they

andi^rality are the totality of ties which ^jnd each of us. to
spciet;^, wKich make a unitary, coherent aggregate of the mass
of individuals. Everything which is a source of solidarity is
moral, everything which forces man to take account of other men
is moral, everything which forces him to regulate his conduct
through something other than the striving of his ego is moral,
and moraliJyjs^aBjdi^^ ties Me„nuffiei:Qii8.w;d.slaxa^
We can see how i nexact it is t o define it, as is often done, through
liberty. It rather consists m^a state ^of dependePQev Far from
serving to emancipate the individual, or disengaging him from
the environment which surrounds him, it has^ on the contxaj^,
the functioA-Qf. marking hiij^.an integml paii pf a whole*^j^d,
ronkquentl y.,pf deprimg him of sopie liljeyty (rf mqyement.
We sometimes, it is true, come across people not without
nobility who find the idea of such dependence intolerable. But
that is because they do not perceive the source from which their
own morality flows, since these sources are very deep. Con-

^ See Book I, oh. iii, $ 2.

CONCLUSION

399

science is a bad judge of what goes on in the depths of a person,
because it does not penetrate to them.

Society is not, then, as has often been thought, a stranger to
the moral world , or something which has only secondary
repercussions upon it. It is, on the contrary, t.hft nftp.ft.»tf!aTy
cgndiliQaJjLits..exia.teilC£. ' It is not a simple juxtaposition of
individuals who bring an intrinsic morality with them, but
rather man is a moral being only bec au se he lives in society,
since morality jconsists in .being solidary with a group and vary-
ing with this •SOjidai^ity-'' Let all social life disappear, and moral
life will disappear with it, since it would no longer have any
objective. The state of nature of the philosophers of the
eighteenth century, if not immoral, is, at least, amoral. Rous-
seau himself recognized this. Through this, however, we do
not come upon the formula which expresses morality as a
•function of social interest. To be sure, s ociety cannot ex ist
if its p arts are not solidary, but solidarity is only one of its c on-
ditions of jexijtence. There are many others which are no less
necessary and which are not moral. Moreover, it can happen
that, in the system of ties which make up morality, there are
some which are not useful in themselves or which have power
without any relation to their degree of utility. The idea of
utility does not enter as an essential element in our definition.

As for what is called individual morality, if we understand
by that a totality of duties of which the individual would, at the
same time, be subject and object, and which would link him
only to himself, and which would, consequently, exist even if he
were solitary, — that is an abstract conception whichnas no
relation to reality. Morality, in all its forms, is never met with
except in society. It never varies except in relation to social
conditions. To ask what it would be if societies did not exist
is thus to depart from facts and enter the domain of gratuitous
hypotheses and unverifiable flights of the imagination. The
duties of the individual to wards himself are, in reality, d uties
towards society. They correspond to certain collective senti-
meuTs whleh he cannot offend, whether the offended and the

400

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

offender are one and the same person, or whether they are dis-
tinct. Today, for example, there is in all healthy consciences a
very lively sense of respect for human dignity, to which we are
supposed to conform as much in our relations with ourselves as
in our relations with others, and this constitutes the essential
quality of what is called individual morality. Every act which
contravenes this is censured, even when the {^ent and the
sufferer are the same person. That is why, according to the
Kantian formula, we ought to respect human personality wher-
ever we find it, which is to say, in ourselves as in those like us.
The sentiment of which it is the object is not less offended in one
case than in the other.

But not.only does the division of labor present the ch aracter
bv which we have defined moral it y ; it more and more tend s to
beco me the essential coi^ition of social solidarity . Ss we
advance in the evolutionary scale, the ties which bind the indi-
vidual to his family, to his native soil,, to traditions which the
past has given to him, to collective group usages, become loose.
More mobile, he changes his environment more easily, leaves his
people to go elsewhere to live a more autonomous existence, to a
greater extent forms his own ideas and sentiments. Of course,
the whole common conscience does not, on this account, pass
out of existence. At least there will always remain this cult of
personality, of individual dignity of which we have just been
speaking, and which, today, is the rallying-point of so many
people. But how little a thing it is when one contemplates the
ever increasing extent of social life, and, consequently, of
individual consciences ! For, as they become more voluminous,
as intelligence becomes richer, activity more varied, in order for
morality to remain constant, that is to say, in order for the in-
dividual to remain attached to the group with a force equal to
that of yesterday, the ties which bind him to it must become
stronger and more numerous. If, then, he formed nq others than
those which come from resemblances, the effq^in^fi the
segmental type would be accompanied by a systehiatic de^i^

ment of moiety. Man would no longer be suf^ciently o^

/

^ s /

CONCLUSION

401

gated; he would no longer feel about and above him this
salutary pressure of society which moderates his egoism apd
makes him, a inoral being. <This is what gives moral value t o
thfe^jiTviaicai . .oL^labcj:. Through it, the individual becomes
cognizant of his dejgendence upon society; from it come the
forces whicTi Ti^p hi m in ch^k and restrain him. In short,
since the division of labor Becomes the chief source of social
solidarity, .becppies, at the same time, the foundation of the
inpraL ordpr. /

We can then say that, in higher societies, our duty is not to
spread our activity over a large surface, but to concentrate and
s pecialize i t. We must contract our horizon, choose a definite
task and immerse ourselves in it completely, instead of trsring to
make ourselves a sort of creative masterpiece, quite complete,
which contains its worth in itself and not in the services that it
renders. Finally, this specialization ought to be pushed as far
as the elevation of the social type, without assigning any other
limit to it.* No doubt, we ought so to work as to realize in ouiv
selves the collective type as it exists. There are common
sentiments, common ideas, without which, as has been said,
one is not a man. The rule which orders us to specialize re-
mains limited by the contrary rule. Our conclusion is not that
it is good to press specialization as far as possible, but as far as
necessary. As for the part that is to be played by these two
opposing necessities, that is determined by experience and can-
not be calculated o priori. It is enough for us to have shown
that the second is not of a different nature from the first, but

* There is, however, probably another limit which we do not have to speak
of since it concerns individual hygiene. It may be held that, in the light of our
organico-psychic constitution, the division of labor cannot go beyond a certain
limit without disorders resulting. Without entering upon the question, let us
straightaway say that the extreme specialization at which biological functions
have arrived does not seem favorable to this hypothesis. Moreover, in the very
order of psychic and social functions, has not the division of labor, in its his-
torical development, been carried to the last stage in the relations of men and
women ? Have not there been faculties completely lost by both ? Why cannot
the same phenomenon occur between individuals of the same sex ? Of course,
it takes time for the organism to adapt itself to these changes, but we do not see
why a day should come when this adaptation would become impossible.

402

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

that it also is moral, and that, moreover, this duty becomes ever
more important and pressing, because the general qualities
which are in question suffice less and less to socialize the indi-
vidual.

It is not without reason that public sentiment reproves an
ever more pronounced tendency on the part of dilettantes and
even others to be taken up with an exclusively general culture
and refuse to take any part in occupational organization. That
is because they are not sufficiently attached to society, or, if one
wishes, society is not sufficiently attached to them, and they
escape it. Precisely because they feel its effect neither with
vivacity nor with the continuity that is necessary, they have no
cognizance of all the obligations their positions as social beings
demand of them. The general ideal to which they are attached
being, for the reasons we have spoken of, formal and shifting, it
cannot take them out of themselves. We do not cling to very
much when we have no very determined objective, and, con-
sequently, we cannot very well elevate ourselves beyond a more
or less refined egotism. On the contrary, he who gives himself
over to a definite task is, at every moment, struck by the senti-
ment of common solidarity in the thousand duties of occu-
pational morality.*

II

But does not the division of labor by making each of us an
incomplete being bring on a diminution of individual person-
ality? That is a reproach which has often been levelled at it.

Let us first of all remark that it is difficult to see why it would

• Among the practical consequences that might be deduced from the proposi-
tion that we have just established there is one of interest to education. We
always reason, in educational affairs, as if the moral basis of man was made up
of generalities. We have just seen that such is not the case at all. Man is des-
tined to fill a special function in the social organism, and, consequently, he must
learn, in advance, how to play this role. For that an education is necessary,
quite as much as that he should learn his role as a man. We do not, however,
wish to imply, that it is necessary to rear a child prematurely for some certain
profession, but that it is necessary to get him to like the idea of circumscribed
tasks and limited horizons. But this taste is quite different from that for general
things, and cannot be aroused by the same means.

CONCLUSION

403

be m(ite in keeping with the logic of human nature to develop
superficially rather than profoundly. Why would a more
extensive activity, but more dispersed, be superior to a more
concentrated, but circumscribed, activity? Why would there
be more dignity in being complete and mediocre, rather than in
living a more specialized, but more intense life, particularly if
it is thus possible for us to find what we have lost in this special-
ization, through our association with other beings who have
what we lack and who complete us? We take off from the
principle that man ought to realize his nature as man, to ac-
complish his 6tK€iov fpyov, as Aristotle said. But this nature
does not remain constant throughout history; it is modified
with societies. ' Among lower peoples, the proper duty of man
is to resemble his companions, to realize in himself all the traits
of the collective type which are then confounded, much more
. than today, with the human type. But, in more advanced
societies, his nature is, in large part, to be an organ of society,
and his proper duty, consequently, is to play his role as an
organ.'

Moreover, far from being trammelled by the progress of
specialization, individual personality develops with the division
of labor.

To be a person is to be an autonomous source of action.
Man acquires this quality only in so far as there is something in
him which is his alo ne a nd which individualizes him, as he is
something more than a simple incarnation of the generic type
of his race and his group. It will be said that he is endowed
with free will and that is enough to establish his personality.
But although there may be some of this liberty in him, an object
of so many discussions, it is not this metaphysical, impersonal,
invariable attribute which can serve as the unique basis for
concrete personality, which is empirical and variable with indi-
viduals. That could not be constituted by the wholly abstract
power of choice between two opposites, but it is still necessary
for this faculty to be exercised towards ends and aims which are
proper to the agent. In other words, the very materials of con-

464

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

scien ce must have a , personal cfe^jratCter^ But we have seen in
the second book of this work that this result is progressively
produced as the division of labor progresses. (The effacement
of the segmental type, at the same time that it necessitates a
very great specialization, partially lifts the individual con-
science from the organic environment which supports it, as from
the social environment which envelops it, and, accordingly,
because of this double emancipation, the individual becomes
more of an independent factor in his own conduct.^ The
division of labor itself contributes tQ„this enfranfibiacimfint,
for individual natures, while specializing, become more com-
plex, and by that are in part freed from collective action and
hereditary influences which can only enforce themselves upon
simple, general things.

It is, accordingly, a real illusion which makes us believe that
personality was so much more complete when the division of
labor had penetrated less. No doubt, in looking from without at
the diversity of occupations which the individual then embraces,
it may seem that he is developing in a very free and complete
manner. But, in reality, this activity which he manifests is not
really his. l.It is society, it is the race acting in and through
him ; he is only the intermediary through which they realize
themselves. His liberty is only apparent and his personality
borrowed. Because the life of these societies is, in certain
respects, less regular, we imagine that original talents have more
opportunity for free play, that it is easier for each one to pursue
his own tastes, that a very large place te left to free fantasy^
But this is to forget that persomil sentirngats-a re -t hen very -rare.
If the motives which govern conduct do not appear as periodi-
cally as they do today, they do not leave off being collective, and,
consequently, impersonal, and it is the same with the actions
that they inspire. Moreover, we have shown above how
activity becomes richer and more intense as it becomes more
specialized.*

Thus, the progress of individual personality and that of the

* See above, pp. 272 ff. and p. 310.

CONCLUSION

405

division of labor depend upon one and the same cause. It is
thus impossible to desire one without desiring the other. But no
one today contests the obligatory character of the rule which
orders us to be more and more of a person.

One last consideration will make us see to what extent the divi-
sion of labor is linked with our whole moral life.

Men have long dreamt of finally realizing in fact the ideal of
human fraternity. People pray for a state where war will no
longer be the law of international relations, where relations
between societies will be pacifically regulated, as those between
individuals already are, where all men will collaborate in the
same work and live the same life. Although these aspirations
are in part neutralized by those which have as their object the
particular society of which we are a part, they have not left off
being active and are even gaining in force. But they can be
satisfied only if all men form one society, subject to the same
laws. For, just as private conflicts can be regulated only by the
action of the society in which the individuals live, so intersocial
conflicts can be regulated only by a society which comprises in
its scope all others. The only power which can serve to moder-
ate individual egotism is the power of the group; the only
power which can serve to moderate the egotism of groups is that
of some other group which embraces them.

Truly, when the problem has been posed in these terms, we
must recognize that this ideal is not on the verge of being
integrally realized, for there are too many intellectual and
moral diversities between different social types existing together
on the earth to admit of fratemalization in the same society.
But what is possible is that societies of the same type may come
together, and it is, indeed, in this direction that evolution
appears to move. We have already seen that among European
peoples there is a tendency to form, by spontaneous movement,
a European society which has, at present, some idea of itself and
the beginning of organization.'’ If the formation of a single

* See pp. 280 - 282 .

406

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

human society is forever impossible, a fact which has not been
proved,® at least the formation of continually larger societies
brings us vaguely near the goal. These facts, moreover, in no
wise contradict the definition of morality that we have given,
for if we cling to humanity and if we ought to cling to it, it is
because it is a society which is in process of realizing itself in
this way, and with which we are solidary.^

But we know that greater societies cannot be formed except
through the development of the division of labor, for not only
could they not maintain themselves in equilibrium without a
greater specialization of functions, but even the increase in the
number of those competing would suffice to produce this result
mechanically ; and that, so much the more, since the growth of
volume is generally accompanied by a growth in density. We
can then formulate the following proposition: /the ideal of
human fraternity can be realized only in proportion to the'
progress of the division of labor./ We must choose : either to
renounce our dream, if we refuse further to circumscribe our
activity, or else to push forward its accomplishment under the
condition we have just set forth.

Ill

/But if the division of labor produces solidarity, it is not only
/because it makes each individual an exiShangist, as the econo-
mists say ; * it is because it creates among men an entire system
of rights and duties which link them togethw in a Arable way."
Just as social similitudes give rise to a law and a morality which
protect them, so the division of labor gives rise to rules which
assure pacific and regular concourse of divided functions. If

* There is nothing that forces the intellectual and moral diversity of societies
to be maintained. The ever greater expansion of higher societies, from which
there results the absorption or elimination of less advanced societies, tends, in
any case, to diminish such diversity.

Thus, the duties that we have toward it do not oppress those which link us
to our country. For the latter is the only actually realized society of which we
are members; the other is only a desideratum whose realization is not even
assured.

* The word is de Molinari’s, La morale iconomiquet p. 248.

CONCLUSION

407

economists have believed that it would bring forth an abiding
solidarity, in some manner of its own making, and if, accord-
ingly, they have held that human societies could and would
resolve themselves into purely economic associations, that is
because they believed that it affected only individual, temporary
interests. Consequently, to estimate the interests in conflict
and the way in which they ought to equilibrate, that is to say,
to determine the conditions under which exchange ought to take
place, is solely a matter of individual competence ; and, since
these interests are in a perpetual state of becoming, there is no
place for any permanent regulation. But such a conception is,
in all ways, inadequate for the facts. The division of labor does
not present individuals to one another, but social functions.
And society is interested in the play of the, latter ; in so far as
they regularly concur, or do not concur, it will be healthy or ill.

• Its existence thus depends upon them, and the more they are
divided the greater its dependence. That is why it cannot
leave them in a state of indetermination. In addition to this,
they are determined by themselves. Thus are formed those
rules whose number grows as labor is divided, and whose absence
makes organic solidarity either impossible or imperfect.

But it is not enough that there be rules ; they must be just,
and for that it is necessary for the external conditions of com-
petition to be equal. If, moreover, we remember that the col-
lective conscience is becoming more and more a cult of the
individu9'l, we shall see that what characterizes the morality
of organized societies, compared to that of segmental societies, is
that there is something more human, therefore more rational,
about them. It does not direct our activities to ends which do
not immediately concern us ; it does not make us servants of
ideal powers of a nature other than our own, which follow their
directions without occupsdng themselves with the interests of
men. It only asks that we be thoughtful of our fellows and
that we be just, that we fulfill our duty, that we work at the
function we can best execute, and receive the just reward for our
services. The rules which constitute it do not have a constrain-

408

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

ing force which snuffs out free thought ; but, because they are
rather made for us and, in a certain sense, by us, we are free.
We wish to understand them ; we do not fear to change them.
We must, however, guard against finding such an ideal inade-
quate on the pretext that it is too earthly and too much to our
hking. An ideal is not more elevated because more transcendent,
but because it leads us to vaster perspectives. What is im-
portant is not that it tower high above us, until it becomes a
stranger to our lives, but that it open to our activity a large
enough field. This is far from being on the verge of realization.
We know only too well what a laborious work it is to erect this
society where each individual will have the place he merits, will
be rewarded as he deserves, where everybody, accordingly, will
spontaneously work for the good of all and of each. Indeed, a
moral code is not above another because it commands in a drier
and more authoritarian manner, or because it is more sheltered*
from reflection. Of course, it must attach us to something be-
sides ourselves but it is not necessary for it to chain us to it with
impregnable bonds.

It has been said * with justice that morality — and by that
must be understood, not only moral doctrines, but customs —
is going through a real crisis. What precedes can help us to
understand the nature and causes of this sick condition. Pro-
found changes have been produced in the structure of our
societies in a very short time ; they have been freed from the
segmental type with a rapidity and in proportions such as have
never before been seen in history. Accordingly, the morality
which corresponds to this social type has regressed, but without
another developing quickly enough to fill the ground that the
first left vacant in our consciences. Our faith has been troubled ;
tradition has lost its sway; individual judgment has been
freed from collective judgment. But, on the other hand, the
functions which have been disrupted in the course of the up-
heaval have not had the time to adjust themselves to one
another ; the new life which has emerged so suddenly has not

* Beaussire, Le« prxncipea de la morale, Introduction.

CONCLUSION

409

been able to be completely organized, and above all, it has not
been organized in a way to satisfy the need for justice which has
grown more ardent in our hearts. If this be so, the remedy for
the evil is not to seek to resuscitate traditions and practices
which, no longer responding to present conditions of society, can
only live an artificial, false existence. What we must do to
relieve this anorny is to discover the means for making the
organs which are still wasting themselves in discordant move-
ments harmoniously concur by introducing into their relations
more justice by more and more extenuating the external ine-
qualities which are the source of the evil. Our illness is not,
then, as has often been believed, of an intellectual sort ; it has
more profound causes. We shall not suffer because we no
longer know on what theoretical notion to base the morality
we have been practicing, but because, in certain of its parts, this
morality is irremediably shattered, and that which is necessary
to us is only in process of formation. Our anxiety does not
arise because the criticism of scholars has broken down the
traditional explanation we use to give to our duties; conse-
quently, it is not a new philosophical system which will relieve
the situation. Because certain of our duties are no longer
founded in the reality of things, a breakdown has resulted which
will be repaired only in so far as a new discipline is established
and consolidated. In short, our first duty is to make a moral
code for ourselves. Such a work cannot be improvised in the
silence of the study ; it can arise only through itself, little by
little, under the pressure of internal causes which make it neces-
sary. But the service that thought can and must render is in
fixing the goal that we must attain. That is what we have tried
to do.

APPENDIX

I

Ordinarily, to ascertain whether a rule of conduct is moral, it is con-
fronted with a pre-established general formula of morality. To the
extent that the rule can be deduced from the formula, or contradicts
it, one assigns, or refuses to assign, a moral value to it.

We cannot follow this method, for in order to give it any efficacy,
it would be necessary for the formula serving as criterion to be an
incontestable scientific truth. But each moralist has his own par-
ticular doctrine, and the diversity of doctrines proves the flimsiness
of the so-called objective value. Furthermore, we shall show that
the doctrines which have been successively proposed are faulty, and
that, to find one more exact, a whole science that cannot be improvised
is necessary.

Indeed, in spite of the implicit or express avowals of all moralists,
such a formula cannot be accepted unless it fits the reality it expresses,
which means that it must realize all the facts whose moral nature is
undisputed. Even those who do without, or believe that they do
without, observation and experience, are obliged, in fact, to submit
their conclusions to this control, for they have no other means to prove
their correctness, and thus confute their opponents. ‘'If close exam-
ination is made,'^ Janet justly says, “it will be seen that in the theory
of duties, more reliance is placed upon the conscience of men and on
their innate or acquired idea of their duties than upon this or that
abstract principle. . . . The proof of this is that in discussions
against false systems of ethics examples can always be brought up, and
from them, arguments that are granted by all sides. ... In short,
all science must rest on facts. Now, the facts which are used as a
foundation for ethics are those duties generally admitted or at least
admitted by those with whom one is arguing.'^ ^

Now, of all the formulas that have been given of the general law of
morality, we do not know of one which can undergo this proof.

' Manuel de Philoaophte, p. 569.

411

412

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

Vainly Kant has tried to deduce from his categorical imperative
that group of duties, surely badly defined, but universally recognized,
called the duties of charity. His method of argument is reduced to a
game of concepts and can be summarized as follows: We act
morally only when the maxim of our action can be universalized.
Consequently, to be moral in refusing aid to our fellow-men when they
are in need, we would have to be able to make of the egotistical maxim
a law applying to all cases without exception. We cannot generalize
to this point without contradicting ourselves ; for, in fact, every time
we are in distress we want to be aided. Charity is then a general duty
of humanity, since egotism is irrational. But, we shall reply, all
that constitutes this so-called irrationality is the fact that it is in con-
flict with the need we sometimes feel to be helped ourselves. These
two tendencies contradict each other. Why should the second super-
sede the first ? Doubtless, to remain consistent with oneself, one must
choose, once for all, between the two systems of conduct; but why
choose one rather than the other? The antinomy can be otherwise
solved; that is, be a consistent and systematic egotist, apply a rule
that one might well apply to others, a law which will require nothing
from others. The egotistical maxim is no more stubborn than the
other in assuming a universal form ; it can be practiced with all its
implied consequences. This logical rigor will be especially easy for
men who feel themselves capable of being sufficient unto themselves
in any circumstance, and are quite ready to do without others pro-
vided others will always do without them. Shall one say that under
these conditions human society becomes impossible? That would
bring up considerations extraneous to the Kantian imperative.

It is true that in another passage,^ Kant has tried to demonstrate
the duties of charity in another manner, deducing them from the
concept of the human person. But the proof is no more probing.
To treat the human being as an end in itself, he says, is not only to
respect it negatively, but also to develop it as much as possible in rela-
tion to others, as well as in itself. But such an explanation can, at
most, give an account of the inferior charity dispensed by our wealth
and superfluity. On the other hand, true charity, which consists in
self-giving, necessarily implies that I subordinate myself to an end

* Metaphysik der Sitten, Part II, § 30 ; and Grundlegung der Metaphyaik der
SUien, Hartenstein edition, vol. IV, p. 271.

* Grundlegung, ed. Hartenstein, vol. IV, p. 278.

APPENDIX

413

transcending me. I wish this end to be the human persons of other
people; but I can exalt the humanity of others only by virtue of
humiliating myself, lowering myself to the role of means. Such
acts would then be denuded of all positive moral value, since, if, on the
one hand, they conform to the law, they violate it on the other. They
are not exceptional and rare; life is filled with them; otherwise it
would be impossible. For example, does conjugal society deny that
man and wife give themselves mutually and wholly to one another?
Nothing is more pathetic than to see the manner in which Kant deduces
the constitutive rules of marriage. According to him, that act of
sacrifice by which one mate consents to be an instrument of pleasure
for the other is in itself immoral,* and cannot lose that quality unless
it is compensated for by a similar and reciprocal sacrifice on the part
of the other.- It is this barter of personalities which puts things in
their places and which establishes the moral equilibrium again !

The difficulties are as great for the moral law of perfection. It
ehables us to understand why the individual seeks his development to
the extreme; but why is he to think of others? The perfection of
others docs not concern his perfection. If he remain consistent with
himself, he will have to practice the most ungovernable moral egotism.
Vainly shall we call attention to sympathy, familial instincts, patriotic
sentiments, considered our natural, even our most noble, propensities,
and ask that they be cultivated. The duties one will be able to deduce,
strictly speaking, from such considerations, in no way resemble those
really binding us to our fellow men ; for these rest in the obligations
to serve others, and not from service to our personal perfection.**

To escape this inference, the principle of perfection has been recon-
ciled with another complimenting it, called the principle of the com-
munity of essence. Whether one sees in humanity,^' says Janet,
“a body whose individuals are its members, or, on the other hand, an
association of individuals, similar and ideally the same, one must
recognize in this common community something more than a simple
collection or juxtaposition of parts, a meeting of atoms, a mechanical
and purely exterior aggregate. There is between men an internal
bond, vinculum sodale^ which manifests itself in affections, sympathy,

^ In dicsem Akt macht sich ein Mensch selbst zur Sache ; welches dem Rechte
der Menscheit an seiner eigenen Person widerstreitet. (Metaphyaik der Sitien,
Part I, § 25.)

^ We are using Janet’s argument, Morale, p. 123.

414 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

language, civil society, and is yet something more profound than all
that, hidden in the recesses of the human essence. . . . Men, bound
by a community of essence, cannot say: am indifferent to what

concerns others.' " ® But whatever this solidarity may be, whatever
its nature and its origins, it can only be presented as a fact, with no
basis for presenting it as a dtUy, The observation that man is not,
in practice, entirely master of himself does not warrant the conclusion
that he must not be master of himself. No doubt, we are bound to
our neighbors, to our ancestors, to our past ; many of our beliefs and
feelings do not originate with us, but come from outside sources. But
where is the proof that this dependence is a good thing? What invests
it with moral value? Why should it not be, on the contrary, a burden
from which we seek to free ourselves, so that duty would then lie in
a complete deliverance? That was the Stoic doctrine. The answer
is given that the attempt cannot be realized ; but why not attempt
to carry it as far as possible? If the success cannot be truly com-
plete, we would have to submit to this solidarity only in so far as we
cannot oppose it. Perhaps it is inevitable; it does not therefore
follow that it is moral. This conclusion is imposed when the prin-
ciple of duty is extracted from the concept of personal perfection.
Do I participate in all that I do for the sake of others, because, for
some reason, others are part of me? But I am most completely my-
self in that part of my make-up which is not confused with others ;
that subjective realm alone is characteristic of me ; I shall then perfect
myself only by concentrating all my efforts on it. The utilitarians
have been criticized because no inference could be made of the identity
of interests from the solidarity of interests ; but it is the same with the
solidarity of perfection. The choice must be made ; if my first duty
is to be a person, I must reduce to the minimum all that is impersonal
in me.

The insufficiency of these doctrines would be still more apparent
if we were to ask them to explain not the very general duties, like those
we have just considered, but more particular rules, like those pro-
hibiting either the marriage between near relatives, or ‘‘companionate
marriages,” or those determining the right of succession, or even those
imposing the duties of guardianship upon the relative of an orphan,
etc. The more explicit and concrete moral maxims are, the more
sharply defined the relationships, the more difficult it becomes to

• Jhid., pp. 124>125.

APPENDIX

415

perceive the bond attaching them to such abstract concepts. Thus,
certain thinkers, pushing logic to the extreme, give up trying to incor-
porate into the simplicity of their formula the details of the moral life
as it is manifested in experience. For them, experiential ethics is
not an application, but a degradation of abstract ethics. The moral
law must be altered in order to be adjusted to the facts ; the ideal is
corrected, and more or less adulterated in order to reconcile it with the
exigencies of practice. In other words, there are two ethics in the
one law of ethics : one, which alone is true, but which is impossible by
definition; the other, which is practicable, consisting only in semi-
conventional arrangements in which concessions, inevitably but
regretfully, are made to the necessities of experience. It is a sort of
inferior and perverted law of ethics with which we content ourselves
by reason of our imperfection, but to which more elevated spirits
cannot resign themselves without sadness. Thus, there is at least the
advantage of not presenting an insoluble problem, for the facts which
confute the narrow formula form no part of it. But if the theory, thus
corrected, is consistent with itself, it is not consistent with experience,
for it relegates to this inferior sphere of ethics institutions of unques-
tioned morality, as, for example, marriage, the family, the right of
property, etc. Furthermore, the principal cause of this corruption
which the moral ideal would undergo by descending into reality would
be what has been called the solidarity of men and of time.^ Now,
really, solidarity is not only a duty not less obligatory than others,
but is perhaps the very source of morality.

Unfaithful to the claims they have made, the so-called empirical
doctrines are no more adequate than the former theories in the light
of the moral reality.

We shall say nothing of the law of ethics based upon individual
interest, for that may well be regarded as abandoned. Nothing comes
from nothing; it would be a miracle of logic if altruism could be
deduced from egotism, the love of society from the love of oneself,
the whole from the part.® The best proof of this lies in the form
Spencer has recently given the doctrine. He has been able to remain
consistent with his principle only by criticizing the most generally
accepted ethics, only by treating as superstitious practices duties
implying a genuine disinterestedness, a more or less complete forget-

^ Renouvier, Science de la Morale, vol. i, p. 349.

* See Guyau, Morale Anglaiae; Wundt, Ethik, pp. 356 fiP.

416 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

fulness of self. Thus, he has been able to say of his own conclusions
that they will probably gain little adherence since they agree neither
with current ideas nor the most widely scattered sentiments.® What
would be said of a biologist who« instead of explaining biologi cal
phenomena, would contest tE5r right to existence ?

A formula more widely known today defines morality as a function,
not of individual utility, but of social interest.^® But although this
expression of morality is certainly more comprehensive than is the
preceding theory, it still cannot be regarded as a good definition.

First of all, a number of things are useful or even necessary to society
without being moral. Nowadays a nation cannot do without a large
and well-equipped army, or great industry ; and yet people possessing
the most cannons or steam-engines are not considered the most moral.
There are even completely immoral acts which are nevertheless some-
times profitable to society.

On the other hand, there are a number of moral practices no less
obligatory than others, but which render no particular service to the
community. What is the social utility of honoring the dead? Yet
its violation is particularly odious to us. Or of the refined modesty
that cultivated classes observe as if it were an imperative duty?
Spencer has clearly shown that the great philanthropy so completely
a part of our customs is not only useless, but harmful to society. It
conserves the lives of, and puts upon public charge, a crowd of in-
competents, who are not only good for nothing, but by their presence
disturb the free development of others. In our hospitals, we support
a population of imbeciles, idiots, lunatics, incurables of all sorts, of no
use at all, yet whose existence is prolonged, thanks to the privations
imposed upon the normal, healthy workers. Dialectic subtleties can-
not argue away the facts, “ It may be objected that these incurable
infirmities are the exception ; but sickly constitutions are cared for,
thanks to this same philanthropy, and that to the detriment of the
average health and collective well-being! Without speaking of the
scrofulous, of the consumptive, of those suffering from rickets who

• In his work on ethics.

Wiart, Des Principes de la Morale conaidirie comme science. — The theory
has often been sustained in Germany, and with considerable gusto in recent
times. (See Ihering, Der Zweek im Recht; Post, Die Grundlage des Rechts;
Schaeffle, Ban und Leben des sozialen Koerpers.)

'' Spencer, Study of Sociology.

See Fouill6e, ProprUU sodale^ p. 83.

APPENDIX

417

can never be more than mediocre workers and are scarcely able to
return to society what they have cost it, there are among present
nations an ever increasing crowd of degenerates, perpetual candidates
for suicide and crime, creators of disorder and disorganization upon
whom we lavish maternal cares, whom we constantly favor, although
they steadily become a more formidable menace to the future. With-
out granting, as does Spencer, that this generosity does more harm
than good, we must, however, recognize that it is gratuitous, and
presents only problematical advantages. Nevertheless, the more
we advance, the greater the development of this uneconomical virtue.
Spencer and the last disciples of Bastiat try in vain to stop the move-
ment ; it grows steadily stronger.

To all these examples, many others could be added, such as the rule
commanding respect for age, that which forbids our making animals
suffer, and the innumerable religious practices imposed upon the
conscience of the believer with an authority properly moral, which,
however, do not present the least social utility. For the Jew, formerly,
to eat pork was a moral abomination; however, it could never be
sustained on the ground that the practice was indispensable to Jewish
society. These exceptions have been numerous, as examination
proves. Whether or not moral practices are useful to society, surely
it is not usually in the light of such a purpose that they are established,
for in order for collective utility to be the spring of moral evolution,
it would have to be, in most cases, the object of a rather distinct idea
in order to determine moral conduct. Now, these utilitarian calcula-
tions, though they be exact, are too intelligently contrived to have
had any great effect upon the will ; the elements are too many, and the
relations uniting them too confused. To hold them all united by con-
science and in the wished-for order, all our available energy is neces-
sary, and there would be none left for action. That is why, as long
as interest is not immediate and apparent, it is too feebly felt to set
activity in motion. Moreover, there is nothing as obscure as these
questions of utility. No matter how simple the situation appears
to be, the individual cannot see clearly where his interest lies. So
many diverse conditions and circumstances must be taken into account,
so adequate a notion must be had, that in such matters certainty is
impossible. Whichever side one takes, there is the feeling that it is
all still conjectural, that a large place remains open to risks. But
evidence is still more diflScult to obtain when it is the interest, not of

418 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

an individual, but of a society that is at stake ; for then it is no longer
sufficient to observe the relatively proximate consequences an action
in our restricted personal milieu can produce, but we must measure
the repercussions which can result from it in all directions in the social
organism. For that, faculties of foresight and ingenuity are necessary
that the average man is far from possessing. Even if those rules whose
social utility has been best demonstrated are examined, it is seen that
the services they render could not be known in advance. Thus, statis-
tics have recently shown that domestic life is a powerful preservative
against the tendency to suicide and crime; can it be said that the
constitution of the family has been determined by the anticipated
knowledge of these beneficent results?

It is, then, quite certain that the rules of ethics, even the simplest,
have not originally had, as end, the interest of society. Their origins
might just as well have been rooted in aesthetic or religious aspira-
tions, passions of all kinds, but without utilitarian objective. No
doubt, once they exist, selection has its influence upon them. Those
which disturb the collective life are eliminated; for, otherwise, the
society in which they are produced could not last, and, at any rate,
they would disappear with it. But a great many must, in the nature
of things, persist, although they may not be directly useful, and be
maintained as they are by the causes which have created them. For
natural selection is, in the last analysis, a rather coarse method of
perfection. It can rid itself of the most imperfect beings, and thus
insure the victory of those comparatively the most gifted. But it is
reduced to a simple process of sorting; by itself it creates nothing,
adds nothing. It can obliterate from ethics the most harmful prac-
tices which invest societies with marked inferiority; but it cannot
make those which survive useful if, originally, they were not so.

II

We admit that this examination is hardly complete. Moral doc-
trines are so numerous that it is impossible to consider them all. But
the method by which they are constructed leaves us certain that they
are manufactured from subjective points of view, which are more or
less similar.

But since a general law of ethics can only be of scientific value by
taking into account the diversity of moral facts, these must first be
studied if we wish to arrive at a law. Before discovering a summer

APPENDIX

419

rizing formula, the facts must be analyzed, their qualities described,
their functions determined, their causes sought out; and only by
comparing the results of all these special studies shall we be able to
extract the common characteristics of all moral rules, the constitutive
properties of the law of ethics. When we are not even definite about
the nature of particular duties and particular rights, how can we under-
stand the nature of their principle? This method is used even when
the source of morality is made to rest in some a priori datum, as is so
often presumed. For, if this initial basis really does exist, the diffi-
culty of defining it, the very different ways of expressing it, prove that,
in any case, it is confused and hidden. Evidently, t o extract an d
formulate the la w, it is not sufficient to examine it introspecti vely ;
b ut wherever it^xists, whether it be within or outside us, to rea^h it
we must start from the facts in whic h the law is incarnated and wliic h
a lone manifest it.

The necessity for this process will be better understood if the moral
law is seen in all its complexity. It does not consist of two or three
very general rules used as the connecting threads of life and needing
variation according to circumstances, but in a great number of spe-
cial precepts. There is not one duty, but many duties. Here, as else-
where, what exists is the individual and the particular ; the general
is only a schematic expression. Suppose we are faced with a question
of domestic ethics? The case is far from complete when it has been
said that children must obey their parents, who must in turn protect
their children ; that husband and wife must be faithful to each other
and co-operate. The real relations uniting different members of the
family are more numerous and more defined. The relations between
parents and child are not abstractly based upon protection on the one
side and respect on the other; what really exists is a great crowd of
particular rights, of particular duties, some being real, others per-
sonal ; rights and duties mingled with a multitude of others, solidary
and inseparable. There are, specifically, the right of punishment,
which law and custom limit; the right of the father over the lives
of his minor children ; rights and duties to wardship, others concern-
ing heredity; they take different forms, depending upon whether
the child is illegitimate, legitimate, or adopted ; according to whether
the powers are exercised by father or mother, etc. If we submit
marriage to analysis, we find the same great diversity of relations.
Suppose it is a question of property. The idea cannot be simplified

420 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

and defined in one word. The im lUendi and abvtendi and all the other
definitions which have been propounded are only very imperfect
expressions. What is called the right of property is after all a com-
'plexus of rights determined through a great number of rules which
complement or delimit each other : rules on the right of accession,
on legal servitudes, on expropriation because of public utility, on the
limitation of the law of reversionary interest, on the right of the lawful
heirs to reclaim investment lost through waste, on questions of limita-
tion, etc. Far from being corollaries of more general precepts, far
from deriving their authority from higher maxims, these particular
rules are, on the contrary, directly and without intermediary laid
upon the will. In all important situations, when we wish to know
what our action should be, we do not need to examine the higher
principles with the object of learning how they apply to the particular
case. There are specific and definite ways of acting imposed upon us.
When we obey the law of modesty, do we feel the relation it has with
the fundamental axioms of ethics and how it has been derived from
them? When we feel an instinctive repulsion for incest, do we dis-
cover the same reason that the savants have discovered? What if I
am a father? In order to know what must be done in a given situation
I do not need to deduce from the general idea of paternity the par-
ticular duties it implies, but I find, among facts, a certain number of
rules tracing my conduct in the ordinary circumstances of life. A
rather just idea of the knowledge and the role of these practices can
be had by comparing them to the reflexes of organic life; they are,
indeed, so many moulds in which activities must run. Only, they are
reflexes inscribed, not in the interior of the organism, but in law and
customs ; these are social phenomena and not biological phenomena ;
they do not determine the activity from within, but stimulate it from
without by means proper to them.

It is evidently impossible ever to find the law dominating so vast
and varied a world, if one begins by observing it in its entirety. Have
the moralists proceeded in this way? Quite on the contrary. They
believe they can attain this superior law with one bound and without
intermediary. They begin by reasoning as if the moral law was to be
entirely invented, as if they were before a clear table on which they
could erect their S3rstem to suit their taste ; as if it were a question of
finding, not a law summarizing and explaining a system of facts actually
realized, but the principle of a moral law which would settle everything.

APPENDIX

421

From this point of view the schools cannot be distinguished. The
argument of the empiricists is no less premature nor summary than
that of the rationalists. The maxim of utility has not been obtained
with the help of a truly inductive method any more than the others.
The procedure of one, as well as the other, is the following : they start
from the concept of man, deducing the ideal from what seems to them
suitable to a being who is thus defined ; and having set up this ideal,
they derive from it the supreme rule of conduct, the moral law. The
differences distinguishing the doctrines rest uniquely in the fact that
man is not everywhere conceived in the same manner. With some,
he is made a creature of pure will; elsewhere place is given to the
sensibilities; some see an autonomous creature made for solitude;
others, an essentially social being. For some, he is made so that he
cannot live without a law surpassing and dominating him, im])osing
upon him an imperative authority. Others, on the contrary, are
struck by the fact that there is spontaneity and freedom in all he does ;
they conclude the ideal must have an attraction which stimulates the
desire. But if the inspiration varies, the method is everywhere the
samoi All talk abstractly of the existing reality ; and if some tardily
attempt to find it, the tardy control is always made in an expeditious
manner. The most general duties are quickly passed in review, but
the generalities are not put aside ; indeed, it is a question, not of pro-
ceeding to verify the rule, but of illustrating with some examples the
abstract proposition that was set up at the very first.

With such a method, it is impossible to reach a truly objective
conclusion. First of all, this concept of man, serving as the basis of
these deductions, cannot be the product of a scientific elaboration,
methodically conducted ; for science is not able to give us that informa-
tion precisely. We begin by knowing some of the elements of man,
but there are a great many of which we are ignorant, and we have
only a very confused notion of the totality that they form. There is,
then, the probability that the moralist has determined his concept in

So far as we know, Janet is the only French moralist who has assigned more
importance to the improperly called “practical” ethics than to the so-called
“theoretical.” We believe this innovation important. But to be efficacious,
this examination of duties must not be reduced to a purely descriptive and very
general analysis. Each would have to be established in all its complexity, its
comprising elements determined, the conditions upon which its development
depends, studied, either in relation to the individual or society, etc. Only by
these particular researches can we little by little extricate notions of the whole
and a philosophical generalization.

422

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

the light of his beliefs and personal aspirations. Moreover, even were
it perfectly exact, the conclusions extracted through the process of
deduction would be, in any case, conjectural. When an engineer
deduces from theoretical principles, even though uncontested, prac-
tical consequences, he can be certain of the results of his logic only
when experience has verified the theories. Deduction, by itself, does
not constitute sufficient proof. Why should it be otherwise with the
moralist? The rules he establishes in the manner we have described
are only hypotheses as long as they have not been submitted to veri-
fication by the facts. Experience alone can decide if they are suitable
to man.

But what is still more serious is that all these logical operations are
based upon a simple postulate. They suppose, in fact, that the only
reason for the existence of the law of ethics is to assure the develop-
ment of man. Now, there is no proof that such is indeed the case.
On what grounds is it asserted that it does not serve exclusively social
aims to which the individual is held subordinate? — Then, it will,
be said, the formula is deduced from the concept of society ! — But
even ignoring that the proposition itself has not been proved, we would
still have to know what these aims are. It is useless to say that its
object is to safeguard great social interests; we have seen that this
expression of morality was at once both too loose and too narrow.
In short, even supposing that the deductive method was applicable
to this problem, in order to be able to extract the general law of
morality from some notion, what would have to be known, at least,
is the function of ethics ; and the only means to that is through the
observation of moral facts ; which is to say, that multitude of par-
ticular rules effectively governing conduct. It would have to be begun
by establishing a science, which, after having classed the moral phe-
nomena, would look for the conditions upon which each of these types
depends, and would determine its role. This means a positive science
of ethics that would be an application neither of sociology nor of
psychology, but a science purely speculative and autonomous, although,
as we shall see later, it belongs to the cycle of social sciences.'*

If, as has often been claimed, moral rules are eternal verities receiv-
ing their value from themselves or from a transcendental source, such
researches could be considerably shortened. On this hypothesis,

We take the liberty of calling attention to our articles on Science Positive
de la Morale in the Rifvue Philosophique, July, August, September, 1887.

APPENDIX

423

indeed, the circumstances of time and place have a completely second-
ary influence on the development of ethics. These circumstances
bring it about that these truths are revealed to man sooner or later,
but it is not because of them that rules of conduct have or have not
a moral nature. It may, then, be of interest to follow tlie develop-
ment of the moral ideas, in order to be able to find in these facts the
idea incarnated in them and progressively realized ; but, for that, it is
sufficient to see the general direction in which the current moves.
It is not necessary to study in detail the ground it covers, since it
affects it only superficially and can, at the most, facilitate or hinder
the march. Thus, in order that this study of facts render all the
services of which it is capable, it would be sufficient to make a rapid
and summary review of the principal stages through which the his-
torical development of ethics has passed.^®

But this text appears actually unsustainable to us, for history has
shown that what was moral for one people was immoral for another,
and not only in fact, but in law. It is, indeed, impossible to regard
some practices as moral which would be subversive of the societies
observing them, for it is a fundamental duty everywhere to assure the
existence of the fatherland. Now, there is no doubt that if the peoples
who have preceded us had had the respect for personal dignity we
profess today, they could not have lived. To maintain themselves,
given their conditions, it was absolutely necessary for the individual
to be less covetous of his independence. If, then, the ethics of the city-
state or of the tribe are so different from our own in certain respects,
it is not because these societies were deceived about the destiny of man,
but simply that their destiny, as it was determined by the conditions
in which they found themselves, would not allow any other ethic.
Thus, moral rules are moral only in relation to certain experimental
conditions ; and, consequently, the nature of moral phenomena cannot
be understood if the conditions on which they are dependent are not
determined. Possibly, there is an eternal law of morality, written
by some transcendental power, or perhaps immanent in the nature
of things, and perhaps historical morality is only a series of successive
approximations; but this is a metaphysical hypothesis that we do
not have to discuss. But, in any case, this morality is relative to a
certain state of humanity, and as long as this state is not realized, not

This is approximately the method of Wundt, in his Ethik, eine Untersuch-
ung der Tatsachen und Gesetze des sittlichen Lebens, Stuttgart, 1886.

424

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

only will it not be obligatory for healthy consciences, but it will even
be our duty to fight against it.

This science of moral facts is, then, very laborious and very complex.
It can now be understood why the attempts of the moralists neces-
sarily had to fail. Such a question cannot be tackled at the beginning
of the scientific investigation ; it can be solved only in proportion to
the advance of the science.

Ill

But how then shall we recognize the facts which are the object of
this science, that is, the moral facts? By some external and visible
sign, and not according to a formula trying to express their essence.
Thus a biologist recognizes a biological fact by certain apparent char-
acteristics, without any necessity for setting up a philosophic idea
of the phenomenon.

First of all, they clearly consist of rules of conduct ; but even so there
are a number of facts of this kind which have no moral character
about them. For example, there are rules of conduct a doctor must
follow in the treatment of this or that illness ; others informing the
manufacturer, the merchant, the artist, the way to proceed to success.
They must not be confused with moral rules, distinguished by the two
following characteristics :

1. When an act, which, by its very nature, is obliged to conform
to a moral rule, deviates from it, society, if it knows of it, intervenes
to oppose the deviation. It actively sets up forces against its author.
He who has committed a murder or a theft, for example, is specifically
punished; he who acts contrary to the laws of honor incurs public
scorn ; he who fails in obligations voluntarily contracted is obliged to
repair the harm he has caused, etc. The same phenomenon is not pro-
duced when other precepts of conduct are violated. If I do not con-
duct my affairs with art, I run the risk of not succeeding, but society
does not oppose my acting in that way. It leaves me free to my
actions. They may not result in the intended aims, but because of
that they are not repressed.

2. This social reaction pursues the infringement with true necessity ;
sometimes it is predetermined even in its modalities. Everyone
knows in advance what will happen if the act is recognized as contrary
to the rule either of competent courts of justice or of public opinion.
A material or moral constraint, according to the case, will be exercised

APPENDIX

425

over the agent, either to punish, or to oblige him to compensate for
the damage, or to do both. On the contrary, the consequences which
arise from ignoring principles of traditional technique are the most
contingent. All that can be said is that this reaction is more or less
likely ; but it may also happen that this deflection from the rules, even
if made with the knowledge and in the presence of the world, may be
greeted with favor. One can be certain of nothing until the event has
occurred. It is this dependence upon chance which makes changes
a great deal easier and quicker in the field of social activity; these
individual variations can be produced not only with complete liberty,
but even with success. On the other hand, when the infraction is one
formally opposed by society, the individual can make no innovations,
since all innovation is fought against as if it were error. The only
possible steps of progress are those which society makes collectively.

This predetermined reaction, exercised by society on the agent who
has violated the rule, constitutes what is called a sanction. We are
limiting tlie meaning of this word that has so often been used in a more
general sense. We now have the criterion for which we have been
looking : we can say that all moral facts consist in a rule of sanctioned
conduct.

This definition, moreover, does not differ from the one generally
admitted ; it is simply a more precise and scientific definition. What
is meant, in short, when we speak of what distinguishes moral rules,
is that they are obligatory. But how can we recognize the presence
of this quality? Is it by questioning our conscience and observing by
direct intuition that this obligation is felt? We know, however, that
all consciences are not the same, even in the midst of one society.
There are some delicate, others more vulgar, others which are the
antithesis of the moral sense. To which shall we address ourselves?
To that of the cultivated man, to the workingman, to the delinquent?
Evidently, only the normal conscience, the most general in society,
is meant. But as it is impossible to see directly what happens
there, to know in what manner tlie rules of conduct are there repre-
sented we must refer to some external fact reflecting this internal
state. Nothing can better play this role than the sanction. It is
impossible, indeed, for the members of a society to recognize a rule of
conduct as obligatory without reacting against all those acts violating
it ; this reaction is so necessary that every normal conscience reproves
even the very thought of such an act. If, then, we define the moral

426

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

rule by the sanction which is attached to it, it is not as if we were con-
sidering the sentiment of obligation as a product of the sanction. On
the contrary, it is because the latter derives from the former that it
can symbolize it ; and as this symbol has the great advantage of being
objective, accessible to observation and even to measurement, it is
a good method to prefer it to the thing it represents. For, to become
scientific the study of moral facts must follow the example of the other
sciences. These try, by all possible means, to eliminate the personal
feelings of the observer to reach the facts in themselves. In the same
way, the moralist must proceed to take as obligatory only what is
obligatory, and not what appears so to him; he must take for the
material of his researches realities and not subjective appearances.
Now, the reality of an obligation is certain only if it is manifested by
some sanction.

But, then, if this definition is held, does all law enter the domain
of ethics? We believe these two domains too intimately united to
be radically separated. Continual exchanges take place between
them; now there are moral rules which become juridical, and now
juridical rules which become moral. Very often the law cannot be
detached from the customs which are its substratum, nor the customs
from the law which realizes and determines them. Moreover, the
moralists have never pushed logic to the extent of making all law
distinct from ethics. Most of them recognize a moral character in
the most general and most essential juridical prescriptions. But it
is difficult for such a selection not to be arbitrary, for there is no cri-
terion which allows it to be made methodically. How shall we dis-
tinguish the rules of law according to their importance and relative
generality, and how shall we be able to predict when all morality
disappears?

The distinction, moreover, cannot be made without falling into
inextricable difficulties, for these general principles can pass into facts
only by becoming solidary with juridical rules under which particular
cases are subsumed. If, then, this special regulation is foreign to
morality, this solidarity inevitably compromises the morality of the
principles, and these can no longer descend into reality without decay-
ing, without ceasing to be themselves. To be just, says the moralist,
respect the property of others. But this property can only have been
acquired by conforming to the particular rules of law, for example,
springing up from a heritage or usucaption or accession. If, then,

APPENDIX

427

these different sources from which the law of property is derived are
not moral, or are simply amoral, how is it possible for property to have
a moral value? Legal authority must be respected; that is still
a rule whose morality is not contested. But this authority has been
instituted according to the prescriptions of constitutional law; if
that is not moral, how could the powers it creates have a claim on
our respect? The examples could be multiplied. If morality is al-
lowed to penetrate into law, it invades it ; and if it does not penetrate,
it remains as a sort of dead letter, as a pure abstraction, instead of
being an effective discipline of wills.

These two orders of phenomena are thus inseparable and spring
from one and the same science. Nevertheless, the sanction attached
to the rules called more specifically moral present some particular
characteristics that can be determined. This name is generally
reserved for those which cannot be violated without the offender
incurring blame from public opinion which can range from utter dis-
grace to simple disapproval, passing through all the shades of reproach.
This reproach constitutes a repression, for it is a misfortune imposed
upon the agent whose prospect can sometimes turn the agent from the
reproved act. It has often been distinguished from the one the courts
apply as being distinctly moral. But the distinction is not exact, for
all moral punishment necessarily assumes a material form. For the
reproach to be efficacious, it must be expressed outwardly by move-
ments in space ; for example, the offender will be excluded from the
society in which he has been accustomed to live. He will be exiled.
This exile is not different from the one imposed by the regular courts
of law. Besides, there are, and there have always been, legal punish-
ments which are purely moral; such are those which consist in the
deprivation of certain rights, as infamy among the Romans, dishonor
among the Greeks, civic degradation, etc. The difference separating
these two sorts of punishment is not based upon their intrinsic char-
acters, but upon the manner in which they are administered. The
one is applied by one and all, the other by defined and constituted
bodies; the one is diffuse, the other organized. The first can also
be coupled with the other; the reproach of public opinion can be
accompanied by a legal punishment properly called. But every
rule of conduct to which a repressive diffuse sanction is attached,
whether it stand alone or not, is moral, in the ordinary sense of
the word.

428

DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

This definition alone proves that the positive science of morality
is a branch of sociology, for every sanction is principally a social thing.
The duties comprising that part of ethics called individual morality
are sanctioned in the same manner as the others. That is to say, they
are individual only in appearance, for they, too, (^pend upon social
conditions. Furthermore, they have been conceive in different ways,
according to the epochs in which they existed. Now, of all the milieux
in which man has lived, only the social milieu has passed through
changes profound enough to get a clear idea of the transformations.

But are all the moral facts included in this definition? Do they
consist of imperative rules; or will they rather belong to a more
elevated sphere in ethics transcending duty? Experience seems to
show that there are acts which are praiseworthy without being obliga-
tory ; that there is a free ideal that one is not bound to attain. ‘*For
example, a wealthy man will be praised for using his fortune to favor
the development of the arts and sciences. That is evidently praise-
worthy and fine, and yet it cannot be said to be a duty for every rich
man to make similar use of his fortune. A fairly well-to-do man will
be praised, will be admired, if he assumes charge of aiding and raising
a family not his own ; however, he who does not act in that way is not
guilty, and how could he not be guilty if this kind of action were
indispensably obligatory?’^

There are, as a matter of fact, moralists who do not admit this
distinction. According to Janet, if certain acts we admire do not
appear obligatory to us, it is because they are not effectively obliga-
tory for the average man who cannot raise himself to so high a standard
of perfection. But if it is not a duty for everybody, it does not follow
that it is not a duty for anyone. Quite on the contrary, those enabled
to achieve that degree of heroism or holiness are strictly bound, unless,
of course, it is possible for them to do as well in another way ; inversely,
if they are not bound to such acts, it is because those are not the best
they can accomplish, and, consequently, are not moral. “It would
be absurd to maintain that when a certain degree of perfection is
possible to me, I have the right to content myself with a lesser ; and
at the same time it would be absurd to demand from me a degree of
perfection alien to 'my nature.”

But the distinction holds good in its entirety. It is true that certain
Janet, La Morale^ p. 223. Loc, dt,, p. 234.

APPENDIX

429

acts are imposed by public opinion, others abandoned to private
initiative. These last are then gratuitous and free. But the agent
obliges himself to accomplish them. If he does not realize his ideal,
he will blame himself; but he will not be blamed. Still, one must
not confuse the reproach inflicted upon oneself for having neglected
to do a good turn with the remorse a genuine fault determines.
These two sentiments have neither the same characters nor the same
intensity. Both are punishments, but the second is a violent pain
due to the wound we have made* with our hands to the living parts
of our moral conscience ; the other is reduced to regret for having let
a delicious joy escape. One arises because an irreparable loss has
been suffered; the other because we have missed an opportunity to
enrich ourselves. The internal reaction which follows the act does not
differ perceptibly from the external reaction, and the moral conscience
of the agent makes the same distinctions as the public conscience.
Shall we go further and say that it is wrong to make these distinctions?
Under these circumstances, discussion becomes impossible, for we seek
only to observe the moral reality as it exists, not knowing for the
moment the criterion which allows us to correct it. Furthermore,
Janet ends by recognizing implicitly these differences and admitting
there exists, at the very least, two quite distinct forms of virtue.
‘‘Virtue,” he says, “is ... in its most sublime form, a free and
individual act, which leads to unexpected forms of grandeur and
generosity. The inferior form of virtue is the legal form which, with
no spontaneity, faithfully follows a given rule. . . . But true virtue,
as genius, escapes the rule, or rather creates the rule.”

Then it seems that our definition does not include all that is specific.
But that does not matter, since if it is true that there are acts which
are the object of admiration, and which, moreover, are not obligatory,
they need not be moral. To put them thus outside of ethics, we need
not refer to an abstract idea of morality and show that they cannot
be deduced from it. We maintain only that it would be contrary to
all method to unite under one rubric acts which are compelled to
conform to a pre-established "ule and others which are free from all
regulation. If, then, to remain faithful to usage, we reserve for the
first the qualification of moral, we cannot equally give it to the second.
But what proof is there that they do not play the same role? It is an
hypothesis which, for the moment, we do not have to discuss, for we
hoc, citt P* 239.

430 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

have not the means. We are only searching now to classify phenomena
according to their most important external characteristics, and it
seems impossible to us to confuse facts which present properties so
greatly opposed.

The contrast between them will appear still more striking if one
observes that the properly called moral fact does not consist of the act
conforming to the rule, but of the rule itself. Now, there is no rule
where there is no obligation. Independent creations of private initia-
tive keep their characters only by virtue of having been brought forth
in no other way. Sometimes, indeed, they catch the moral conscience
so unexpectedly that the latter, not having ready-made judgments to
apply to them, remains hesitant and confused. To be sure, there is
a very general precept which promises encomia or public gratitude
to whoever does more than his duty ; but besides the fact that this
maxim has nothing imperative about it, the reward attached to it
sanctions no determined action. It leaves an immense area open to
the individual wherein he can move with complete freedom. The
different ways of doing more than one’s duty cannot be more specific
than the different ways of doing less.

Besides, it is easy to see that these external differences correspond
to internal and profound differences. For what this contingency
indicates, this area made for the imagination, is that these acts are
not necessary, are adjusted to no vital end, and in short, are a super-
fluity ; that is to say, they belong to the domain of art. After we have
directed a part of our energy towards doing its daily task, we like to
play freely, indulging ourselves to exert energy for its own sake, with-
out any use, without any definite goal in sight. This is the pleasure
of playing a game, and aesthetic pleasure is only a superior form of it.
At the same time that our energies are freed from their daily obliga-
tions, from their regular duties, they feel the need of tearing loose, of
pla3rmg in new circumstances where rules are neither determined nor
imposed, for the pleasure of doing and the joy of being free. It is this
need which inspires all gratuitous acts we accomplish, from the refine-
ments of worldly urbanity, the ingenuities of politeness, the loosing
of sympathy in the midst of the family, the kind attentions, the gifts,
affectionate words or caresses between friends or relatives, up to the
heroic sacrifices that no duty demands. For it is wrong to believe
that these noble inventions, as they are very justly called by Janet,
are met with only in extraordinary circumstances. Th^ are invested

APPENDIX

431

with the greatest importance ; life is full of them ; they invest it with
charm.*® The sentiment they inspire in us is of the same nature and
depends upon the same cause. If we admire them, it is not because
of their consequences, the utility of which is often doubtful. The
father of a family risks his life for a stranger ; who would dare say
that was useful? What we love is the free use of moral strength,
whatever be its effective consequences.

But, if such manifestations are in the domain of art they belong to
a very special sphere. Of course, they have something moral about
them, for they are derived from customs and tendencies which have
been acquired in the practice of the properly called moral life, such as
the need for giving oneself, of going outside oneself, of interesting
oneself in others, etc. But these dispositions, moral in origin, are no
longer used morally because, with the disappearance of the obligation,
morality disappears.®® Just as sport is the aesthetic of the physical
life, art the aesthetic of the intellectual life, so this activity mi generis
is the aesthetic of the moral life.®*

IV

Our definition is still faulty, however. Indeed, the moral conscience
of societies is a subject where error is quite possible. It can attach the
external sign of morality to rules of conduct which are not themselves
moral ; and, contrariwise, leave without sanctions rules which should
be sanctioned. We must complete our criterion, so that we shall not
be exposed to accepting as moral, facts which are not so ; or, on the
other hand, excluding from ethics facts which in their very nature are
moral.

It is, therefore, not the difficulty of these actions which separates them from
the others. Some of them are easily accomplished. Consequently this dis-
tinction cannot arise, since we willingly regard as discretionary everything that
is somewhat difficult.

This is not to be confused with the doctrine of those who admit the exist-
ence of discretionary duties ; the last two words contradict each other.

We do not wish to inject practical considerations into this scientific exami-
nation. However, it seems to us that the distinction between these two do-
mains is very necessary even from the practical point of view. For they cannot
be confused without putting them on the same plane. There is very often at-
tributed to the aesthetico-moral activity a certain superiority. Now, the senti-
ment of obligation, that is, the existence of duty, is in danger of being weakened
in admitting there is a morality, and perhaps a higher, which rests in the inde-
pendent creations of the individual, which no rule determines, which is essen-
tially anomie. We believe, on the contrary, that anomy is the contradiction
of all morality.

432 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

The question does not differ essentially from the one the biologist
asks when he seeks to separate the sphere of normal physiology from
that of pathological physiology, for it is a fact of moral pathology that
a rule may unduly present the character of an obligation or may be
unduly deprived of it. We have, then, only to follow the method
employed by the naturalists in similar circumstances. They call a
biological phenomenon normal in a determined species when it is found
in the average specimen of that species, when it is a part of the average
type; and, contrariwise, it is pathological when it is not within the
average, whether it be above or below it. But the average type need
not signify an individual being whose characteristics are defined,
quantitatively and qualitatively, with mathematical precision. There
is, on the contrary, nothing absolute or fixed about it ; it varies within
certain limits; and it is only above and below these limits that the
domain of pathology begins. If, for example, in a given society,
the heights of all individuals are taken and if one puts in columns the
figures thus obtained, beginning with the highest, one observes that
the most numerous and most closely related statistics are massed in
the centre. Beyond that, whether above or below, they are not only
more rare but more widely interspaced. It is this central dense mass
which constitutes the average, and if this is often expressed by a single
figure, it is because all those in the average region may be represented
by the one around which they gravitate.

The same method must be followed in ethics. A moral fact is
normal for a determined social type when it is observed in the average
of that species ; it is pathological in antithetical circumstances. That
is what makes the moral character of particular rules vary; they
depend upon the nature of social types. For example, in all societies,
with totems, clans, and aggregations of clans, there is a law forbidding
the killing and eating of the animal used as emblem for the group ; we
shall say that this rule is normal for that social type. In all our
European societies, infanticide, which formerly went unpunished, is
severely forbidden ; we shall say that this rule is normal for the social
type to which our societies belong. One can even measure, in this
way, the degree of coercive force which each normal rule must normally
have ; we need only determine the normal intensity of the social reac-
tion which follows the violation of the rule. In Italy custom sometimes
indulgently judges acts of brigandage that public conscience strongly
reproves in other countries of Europe; such a fact is then abnormal.

APPENDIX

433

At the same time, it must not be forgotten that the normal type is
not some stable thing whose traits can be fixed at an indivisible instant.
On the contrary, it evolves, as do societies themselves and all organisms.
We are, it is true, disposed to believe that it blends with the average
type of the species during maturity, for it is only at that time that the
organism is truly itself, for it is then all it can be. But if the normal
or pathological state of an animal were determined in infancy or old
age, from its adult normalcy, one would commit the same fault as
judging the state of health of an insect by the standard of a mammifer.
We would then see genuine maladies in infancy and decline. How-
ever, the presence of characteristics proper to the adult in either the
infant or declining stage is an indication of a pathological state. A
too precocious awakening in infancy, an over-prolonged persistence
of genetic instincts in decline, are really morbid phenomena.®* Thus,
there is a normal type in infancy, another in the prime of life, another
in old age, with societies as with individual organisms.

Consequently, to know if a moral fact is normal for a society, we
must take into account the age of the society and determine the normal
type which serves as landmark. Thus, during the infancy of our
European societies, certain restrictive rules of liberty of thought which
have disappeared in a more advanced age were normal. To be sure,
one cannot be specific about what moment of evolution either a society
or an organism has reached. To number the years would not be
enough ; one may be older or younger than onc^s age. Only according
to certain characteristics of the structure and functions is it possible
scientifically to distinguish old age from infancy, or maturity,^^ and
these have not yet been determined with sufficient precision. How-
ever, besides being the only method of procedure, we shall find
nothing insoluble about the problem. Certain of these objective signs
are already known ; ^ on the other hand, if the number of years is
not always a satisfactory criterion, it may, however, be usefully
employed, provided it be used with reserve and precaution. Ulti-
mately, the progress of science will make this determination more exact.

^ That does not mean that sickness is part of the normal t3n;)e of old age. On
the contrary, the illnesses of old age are abnormal facts just as those of the adult.

** Thus, the fact that an aged man presents the complete type of adult has
nothing morbid about it ; what is pathological is that, in presenting the ana-
tomic and physiological type of old age in its essential lines, he may, at the same
time, have certain characteristics of the adult.

For example, for a society, regular lowering of the birth-rate may be used
as proof that the limits of maturity have been reached or passed.

434 DIVISION OF LABOR IN SOCIETY

However, there are cases where, to distinguish the healthy state
from the sick, it is not enough to refer to the normal type. This is so
when all of its traits have not been formed ; when, disturbed in certain
particulars by a passing crisis, it is itself in process of becoming. That
is what happens when the moral conscience of nations is not yet
adapted to the changes which have been produced in the milieu,
changes which, partaking of the past which holds it from behind and
the necessities of the present, keep it from becoming fixed. Then
there appear rules of conduct whose moral character is indecisive,
because they are in the midst of acquiring or losing it without having
definitely either acquired or lost it. These are badly determined
passing fancies which are, however, general, and present themselves
in social life in proportion to its process of transformation. However,
the method remains the same. One must begin by fixing the normal
type ; and towards that the only means is to compare it with itself.
We can determine the new conditions of the state of health only in
the functions of the old, for we have no other point of comparison.
To know if such and such a precept has moral value, we must compare
it with others whose intrinsic morality is established. If it plays the
same role, which is to say, if it is used for the same ends ; if, moreover,
it follows from causes which have brought forth the other moral facts
as well; if, in sum, these last demand it on penalty of not existing if
the other does not at the same time exist, it can rightfully be concluded
from this functional identity and this solidarity that it must be accepted
with the same claims and in the same manner as the other obligatory
rules of conduct. Consequently, it is moral.

To be sure, it is not certain, even with this correction, that the normal
type realizes the last degree of perfection. To have maintained itself
in so general a manner, it must, in its essential characteristics, be
sufficiently well adapted to these conditions of existence; but that
does not prove that anything will derive from it. Health is one thing,
perfection another. Now, for the moment, we are looking especially
for the characteristic signs of moral health, and if the division of labor
presents them, that is enough for us. Let us add, besides, that this
highest perfection can be determined only in the function of the normal
state, for that is the only model from which corrections can be made.
One can have only one intelligible reason for finding certain elements
faulty ; that is because they differ from the average of the others and
constitute anomalies in the average type. One is then always led back

APPENDIX

435

to this last factor ; it is only in relation to itself that it can be judged
inadequate. To perfect it is to make it more like itself. To proceed
otherwise would be to admit an ideal, coming from some unknown
source, imposing itself from outside, a perfection whose value has not
been brought forth from the nature of things and under the conditions
they depend upon, but which brings forth the desire from I know not
what transcendental and mystical virtue ; a sentimental theory which
has no part in scientific discussion. The only ideal that the human
mind can propose is to improve what is. It is in reality alone that
one can learn the improvements it demands.

We arrive, then, at the following definition :

One considers as a normal moral fact for a given social type, at a
determinate phase of its development, every rule of conduct to which a
repressive diffuse sanction is attached in the average society of this type,
considered at the same period of evolution; secondly, the same quali-
fication applies to every ride, which, without precisely presenting this cri-
terion, is, however, analogous to certain of the preceding rules; that is to
say, serves the same ends, and depends upon the same causes.

It may be said that this criterion is too empirical. But, in fact, the
moralists of all schools use it more or less explicitly. We know, indeed,
that they are obliged to take as their point of departure for their specu-
lations a recognized and uncontested ethic, which can only be the one
generally followed during their time and in their environment. It is
from a summary observation of this ethic that they extract a law which
is supposed to explain it. It is that which furnishes the material for
their inferences ; it is that also which they find in the phraseology of
their deductions. To be otherwise, it would be necessary for the
moralist, in the silence of his study, to construct solely by the strength
of his thought the complete system of social relations, since the moral
law penetrates all. This is obviously an impossible undertaking.
Even when he appears to be original, he is only translating reformatory
tendencies in motion about him. He adds something to them because
he makes them clear, because he is weaving a theory about them;
but this theory is reduced to showing that they are arriving at the same
end as some moral practice whose authority is indisputable. Since
this method is imposed, is it not wisest to practice it openly, resolutely
meeting the great difficulties, and surrounding ourselves with all
possible guarantees against error?

INDEX

[Durkheim made no index for any of the editions. I have compiled an
index of proper personal names only, except in the case of references to the
Bible, in the belief that the table of contents written by Durkheim amply
supplies a topical guide. Included in the index are proper names found in
my estimate.]

Accarias, 150 n., 209 n., 258 n.
Aesculapius, 307, 318
Aristotle, 39, 54, 271, 297, 297 n., 403
Arr6at, 326 n.

Ashley, 13

Aulus Gellius, 165, 165 n., 184 n.

Bain, 55, 67 n., 273, 315
Ball, 328
Barnes, xxvi n.

Bastiat, 417
Beaussire, 408 n.

Bernouilli, 235
Bert, 332 n.

Bertillon, 293, 295
Beudant, 32
Binding, 75 n.

Bischoff, 58
Block, 354 n.

Boissier, 12
Bonnet, 40
Borchardt, 170 n.

Bordier, 271 n., 272 n.

Bougl6, 22 n.

Bouvy, 94 n.

Broca, 134
Bucher, 46

Busschenshutz, 284 n.

Carey, 393, 394 n.

Cauwes, 3^ n.

Cheysson, 295
Cicero, 8, 284 n.

Cleisthenes, 185 n.

C16ment, 63 n.

Comte, xxviii, 62, 123, 251, 255 n.,
262 n., 278, 279, 294, 331, 356,
357, 358, 359 n., 361, 363, 364, 371
Condillac, 198
Confucius, 93
Cook, 334

Cowper Rose, 245 n.

Dargun, 58 n.

Darwin, 197, 266, 276
De Candolle, 40, 40 n., 312, 314,
315, 316
Descartes, 37

Deuteronomy f 75, 86 n., 92 n., 95 n.,
138, 139, 139 n., 140 n., 156 n.,
157, 158, 159 n.

Dilthey, xxix n.

Diocletian, 385 n.

Diodorus, 165, 165 n.

Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 19 n.,
150 n., 284 n.

Du Boys, 96 n., 163 n.

Dumont, 259 n,, 293 n.

Dunant, 292

Ellis, 170, 334
Erskine, 334
Elsmein, 385 n.

Espinas, 99 n., 198, 282 n., 358
Euripides, 55

Exodus, 75, 86 n., 92 n., 138, 139,
156 n., 158

Fechner, 235, 235 n.

F6r6, 272 n., 317 n.

437

438

INDEX

Festus, 167 n.

Fison, 175

Fouill^y 90 n., 202 n., 416 n.
Francotte, 8 n.

Fustel de Coulanges, 149 n., 159,
161, 161 n., 179, 183 n., 268 n.

Gallon, 312, 314, 324, 326
Qarafalo, 71 n., 74, 74 n., 83 n.
Gierke, 13

Gilbert, 77 n., 186 n.

Giraud, 282 n.

Glasson, 183 n.

Guyau, 322 n., 416 n.

Haeckel, 267
Hale, 135
Haller, 40

Hanoteau, 177 n., 286 n.

Hartmann, 242 n.

Heraclitus, 55
Hermann, 7 n., 307, 307 n.

Hesiod, 92 n.

Hippocrates, 133, 307
Howitt, 175
Humboldt, 133

Iher^g, 416 n.

Janet, 63 n., 411, 413, 413 n., 421 n.,
428, 428 n., 429, 430
Jankelevitch, xxix n.

J dMVkSf xli

oahtuif 178 n.

Kant, 120, 400, 412-413
' Krauss, 208 n., 210 n.

Ktlhne, 332 n.

Kulischer, 281 n.

Laplace, 236, 236 n.

Layet, 292 n.

Lebon, 57, 60, 134
Leibnits, 40
Lemontey, 43
Leo the Philosopher, 207
Leroy, 266 n.

Letoumeux, 177 n., 285 n.

Levasseur, 9, 12, 13, 20, 188, 268 n.,
259 n., 285 n., 291 n., 364 n.,

355 n., 394 n.

Leviticus, 86 n., 95 n., 138, 139,
139 n., 140, 158

Lombroso, 164, 164 n., 165, 316 n.,
317

Lubbock, 138, 138 n.

Lucas, 308

MacCulloch, 149
Maciver, xxix n., xxxiii
Maimonides, 140 n.

Maine, 95, 144, 146
Mainz, 78

Manou, 92 n., 93, 141, 141 n., 329 n.
Marion, 38

Marquardt, 162 n., 163 n., 185 n.,
258, 394 n.

Marx, xli-xliii, 393
Masqueray, 177 n.

Maudsley, 97 n.

Mauss, XXV n., xli
Meier, 160 n., 161 n., 297 n.
Meng-Tseu, 93
Mill, J. S., 39, 304
Milne-£d wards, 41
Mitchell, xxvii n.

Mohammed, 208
Molinari, de, 406 n.

Morgan, 91 n., 150 n., 176 n., 176 n.,
178 n.

Morselli, 247, 247 n.

Munck, 93 n., 140 n., 178 n.

Newton, 40
Numa, 8, 142

Numbers, 96 n., 138, 139, 139 n.,
160 n., 178 n.

Oettingen, von, 60 n., 247 n., 269 n.
Ortolan, 116 n.

Parsons, xxvii n.

Pascal, 260

Pentateuch, 72, 76, 96, 104, 138,
140, 142 n., 167, 169, 160, 183,
186, 381 n.

INDEX

Perrier, 137 n., 191, 191 n., 286, 303,
322, 327, 366 n.

Plath, 93 n.

Plato, xxviii, 307 n.

Pliny, 8 n.

Plutarch, 8 n., 307 n.^

Pollux, 161 n.

Post, 86 n., 159 n., 177, 416 n.
Proud'hon, xl

Quatrefages, de, 309, 328, 347 n.
Quetelet, 248

Rabier, 238 n.

Rein, 77 n., 91 n., 92 n., 94 n., 158,
161 n.

Renouvier, 415 n.

R6ville, 2^ n.

Ribot, 307, 307 n., 308 n., 362
Richet, 235 n.

• Rickert, xxix n.

Rietschel, 20 n.

Romanes, 322 n.

Romulus, 157 n.

Rousseau, 201, 399

Saul, 307
Say, 43

Schaeffle, 63 n., 357, 416 n.
Schmoller, 46, 187 n., 188, 189 n.,
308 n.

Schoemann, 160 n., 161 n., 297 n.
Schrader, 281 n.

Secr4tan, 42
Selden, 140 n.

Servius Tullius, 19
Simmel, 46 n.

Smith, Adam, xlii, 39, 46
Smith, Robertson, 59 n., 208 n.
Sohm, 20 n., 258 n.

Solon, 77
Sorel, 281

Spencer, 57 n., 58 n., 67 n., 71 n.,
120, 125, 138 n., 148, 149, 179 n.,
193, 194, 199, 200-206, 216, 217,
219, 221, 222, 224, 228, 235 n.,
257, 260, 263, 265, 278, 305, 331,
333, 334, 342, 349, 350, 353 n..

439

366 n., 369, 390, 391, 415, 41^,
416 n., 417
Spinoza, 82
Spranger, xxix n.

Strabo, 381 n.

Sulla, 385 n.

Tacitus, 76 n., 93, 258 n.

Tarde, xxviii, xxxi, 50 n.. Ill, 111 n.,
135, 136 n., 165 n., 180 n., 187 n.,
247 n., 259 n., 296, 316, 334, 375 n.
Thonissen, 86 n., 92 n., 93 n., 104 n.,
145 n., 157 n., 159 n., 161 n., 162 n.,
164 n., 165, 165 n.

Tocqueville, 43

Topinard, 57 n., 134 n., 323 n.

Tourtoulon, xxxvi n.

Turgot, 10

Ulloa, 134
Ulpian, 385 n.

Valleroux, 355 n.

Viollet, 208 n., 209 n.

Virchow, 324

Voigt, 142 n., 143, 144, 157 n., 163 n.,
385 n.

Von Baer, 41
Wagner, 324 n.

Waitz, 57 n., 58 n., 134 n., 144, 149,
177, 177 n., 184, 244, 244 n., 245 n.
Walter, 77 n., 86 n., 92 n., 93 n.,
142 n., 162 n.

Waltzing, 8, 10, 12, 19 n.

Webb, xxxiv n.

Weber, E. H., 235
Weber, Max, xxix n., xxxii n.
Weismann, 328
Wiart, 416 n.

Wolff, 40, 41

Wundt, 235 n., 236 n., 332, 332 n.,
415 n., 423 n.

Wyss, V., 170 n.

Znaniecki, xxxiii
Zoepfl, 92 n.